


The Best Show In Town Was The Crowd

by AndInThoseMoments



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Circus, Child Abuse, Circus, Gen, Kid Clint, Kid Fic, Kid Natasha Romanov, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-11-28 09:06:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/672666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndInThoseMoments/pseuds/AndInThoseMoments
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint Barton has been the only child in the circus for a long time, and entertains himself with fantasy stories of being a superhero.  When a Russian tightrope walker younger than himself joins the circus, he decides to become her friend, and include her in her games, slowly drawing in those around them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Amazing Hawkeye

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is rated M not because of sexual content but because it will probably get quite dark at points.
> 
> Warnings: Physical violence, neglect and threats directed towards children and adults, serious injury to minor characters, alcohol abuse.
> 
> I promise this will have a happy ending guys.
> 
> Title comes from "Oh What A Circus" from Evita.

“Hey…” Clint called out to the girl a couple of years younger than himself, who had managed to wedge herself in one of his favourite spots – under the carousel. He’d ignored her previously, when she’d been in his way – he was just happy there was another child in the circus, and there was something about her that had made him avoid getting too close. He’d surrendered his hiding spaces to her rather than confront her. But today it was different. He had a reason to seek her out.

She looked up at him, brushing messy red hair out of her eyes. He pretended not to see the bruises across her arms, tight around her wrists, or the fact her eyes were red. Just like he had pretended the night before not to hear her being shouted at, the angry words of Russian punctuated by the sound of blows. It was just how things were here. Same as no one ever heard him screaming after the shows when he messed up a shot. The bruises would be covered by her outfit during the next performance.

“You must be hungry right?” He asked, holding out a bowl of fishcakes and potatoes. It was good food, a gift from Thor, and he normally wouldn’t be willing to give it up, but he wanted to make friends. He had food to bargain with and he was sure she wouldn’t have eaten the previous night. This was the best chance he was going to get to befriend her, and he refused to let this opportunity pass by.

Barney had told him once, before he ran off again and abandoned him, that girls got more friendly when they were hungry. He wasn’t sure that was true – when he was hungry, he was just grumpy, but he had to hope. Most of Barney’s advice had been pretty rubbish, but he was willing to give this a shot.

She considered for a moment, her face settling in that bored expression he had seen before. Then she looked up at him, and asked a single word, her accent thick.  
“Price?” 

Clint hesitated. He knew Natalya didn’t speak much – even if she understood, but she clearly knew the important words. He knew what he wanted from her, and he was going to ask for it, but he wished he could be just giving her the food. He guessed that was what real friends would do.  
“Want to be friends.”

She shrugged, face still bored, the way it had been the previous night after her stumble on the high wire. He wondered if he was wasting his time, and got up, taking the food with him. The soft, desperate noise that escaped her as he turned his back made him stop, and when he turned around she was reaching up towards him.

He handed over the bowl, and she curled back up in his spot, devouring the food. He’d been right about her being hungry, clearly. He sat nearby in silence and allowed her to eat. Only once the bowl was empty did he try and talk to her again.

She was running small fingers around the inside of the bowl, scraping up every last scrap of food. He wondered if he could bring her more. He’d get in trouble if he got caught. But it had worked so far.  
“I’m Clint… Clint Barton…” He started, trying to remember how you were meant to introduce yourself.  
She nodded.  
“Archer. I see you shoot. You do well, very good.”

Clint smiled brightly as Natalya told him exactly what he always wanted to hear. He didn’t realise that was what she did with everyone, he thought he was special. He hadn’t heard her talk this much before, so he guessed  
“You’re Natalya right?” She nodded, and he frowned. “I think Natalya’s a silly name. Natasha’s prettier.”

“Call me what you wish.” She shrugged slightly, gaze still fixed on the bowl, as if she could somehow will more food into existence if she wished for long enough. He hesitated, then reached out for it, deciding he could risk looking for more.  
“I’ll go ask Thor if he’s got any left.”  
“He is a greedy man.” The girl informed him. “He eat too much.”

Clint laughed slightly and nodded.  
“Yeh… well, he has to. He’s strong, he’s got to be for his act. So he gets a lot of food.” With that, he took the bowl, racing off to the strongman’s tent.

Thor chuckled when he appeared, clearly overjoyed to see the boy. Clint thought that Thor was probably his favourite. He was generous, and friendly, and kind. He’d give Clint food sometimes, when he was hungry, and he got angry when he realised Clint had been beaten. That protectiveness was part of the reason Clint rarely asked him for food. Clint liked the fact Thor tried to protect him, but he didn’t like the fact Clint was the one who got punished for it. 

Once, when two of his fingers had been broken, Thor had got so angry he had shouted at both Trickshot, and the circus owner, Stane. Clint tried not to let himself think about that day. Tonight was good. Tonight, he’d got a friend, and she was close to his age. He wasn’t going to let anything spoil it, especially not nightmares.

Thor ruffled Clint’s hair fondly, murmuring to himself in a language that Clint didn’t speak. He laughed again when he saw the blank look on Clint’s face.  
“Hungry little hawk?” He asked, and Clint nodded quickly. For a moment Thor’s face clouded, but he searched the tent, and eventually pressed a small pack of biscuits to Clint’s hand. “Our secret, yes?”

Clint nodded quickly. Thor wasn’t meant to give him food, and he wasn’t meant to take it. They’d both be in trouble if this got found out.  
“Our secret.” He echoed. “Thank you…” He grinned up at the strongman, then darted back to the carousel.

Natasha hadn’t moved, other than to curl up into a smaller ball, staring at him when he returned. He held out the packet of biscuits, and she reached for it, but he shook his head. She settled down again quietly, not arguing or protesting, just waiting for him to explain what would happen, how she could get the biscuits.

“We can share these okay Natasha?” He offered. He was hungry too, and that way he got to hold onto them. That stopped her from squiggling back so that she was completely hidden from him.

She nodded, regarding him with eyes that seemed a lot older than the rest of her face. It was creepy. He opened the packet, and handed her a biscuit, which she ate. He had one himself, then turned to her.

“So, if we’re friends, what games shall we play?”  
Natasha answered with a shrug.  
“It is your choice.”

Clint nodded, considering. Natasha was a boring friend. She kept shrugging at him. Still, he wasn’t going to give up that easily.  
“Want to watch me shoot?”

She nodded quickly, and crawled out from her hidey hole, brushing the dirt off of her clothes and squeezing his hand. He led the way to his practice tent, and she settled down on a crate. He grabbed his bow, examining it nervously. It’d break soon, he was sure of it. Trickshot would be so angry when it broke. He shivered, but told himself it’d be okay. If he was lucky, he could catch Tony in a good mood, and it’d get fixed.

“Are you going to take so long?” Natasha asked impatiently, swinging her legs.  
“No…” He raised the bow, setting the arrow in place, and then turning to look at her, practicing his speech.  
“Ladies and Gentlemen, come and see the Amazing Hawkeye, expert archer and sniper extraordinaire.”  
“Be careful. You might shoot me if you point your bow this way.”

He took the hint, turning to the target and releasing to get a perfect bullseye. She clapped, and he waved a hand at her.  
“Good huh?”  
“I tell you you shoot very good.” She reassured him.

“I do.” He grinned, loading another arrow. “I am going to be the best shooter ever. I’m going to be a superhero, actually. I’ve decided. I’m going to be a superhero, and I’m going to shoot bad guys and save people.”

“You don’t have any superhero powers.” She told him, voice flat. He considered this for a moment.  
“I don’t need them. That’s how good at shooting I am. I can be a superhero without powers. I’ll be called Hawkeye, and everyone will want to be like me. They’ll make posters with me on and people everywhere will think I’m a hero.”

She laughed then, but it wasn’t a mean laugh, and Clint felt himself smiling. He told himself stories all the time, but now that he had an audience, he thought it would be more fun. He let another arrow fly, and it buried itself beside the first. He was rewarded by more applause. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this happy.

He wanted to impress her, to show off, so he decided to do his best trick. He wasn’t technically allowed to practice this one – it wasted arrows, so was only meant to be performed on stage. But he was willing to take the risk to impress her. He’d hide the broken arrows after. He lined up, and released the string, firing the third arrow into the end of the first, splitting the wood as they shattered together with a loud crack.

She squealed, clapping with more enthusiasm than before.  
“That was so very good.” She told him, almost bouncing in her seat. “You do so well. So very we-“ Her word was cut off with a gasp as the flap to the tent was pushed open, and Clint turned to see Trickshot there.

He tried to hide the bow behind his back, even though he knew it was pointless. He looked over to the crate Natasha had been sat on, but she had already run away.


	2. The Black Widow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint's dreams of heroism begin to widen to include his friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: The beginning of this chapter is quite violent, with physical abuse being directed towards a child, please don't read it if you might find it triggering.
> 
> Betaed by the wonderful ShadowHaloedAngel.

Clint stood there, his head bowed, trying to go somewhere safe in his mind. This was hindered by the fact that he couldn't easily think of anywhere safe to go. Everywhere right now was dark, full of terror. Maybe he could find safety in performing, like he had for Natasha, showing off as he split arrows. But even those thoughts were currently sour, tainted by the knowledge that Trickshot would find him.

After a few moments he abandoned that path entirely, and instead focussed on Hawkeye, and the stories that he could tell Natasha later. It helped hold back the crashing waves of terror, the bursts of pain that threatened to tear him to shreds as fists collided with his body. He tried to think. 

Hawkeye would have a huge tower, in the best city on Earth. There would be dozens of kitchens, and beds big enough to build a blanket fort on, surrounded by quilts and cushions and comfort. That thought helped him to relax. 

Of course, Hawkeye would have a really big tower, and so would need things to put in it. He'd have a candyfloss machine, and a whole room full of bows and arrows. There would be rooms that were just giant TV screens, so that he could watch whatever he wanted. Clint thought Hawkeye might get very lonely, but then he realised what he could do. He could have Natasha with him. He wondered if she would want him to paint everything pink, but he kind of doubted it. Natasha didn't seem like the kind of girl who would like pink, at least not when there were people she wasn't trying to impre-

His fantasy was shattered and ripped apart from a particularly hard blow to the side of his head, and something hard cut into his tongue, along with the unmistakable taste of blood. He heard himself scream as he spat out the red liquid, and was surprised by the white pearl inside.

"Fuck." Trickshot swore viciously, crouching down to hiss at Clint. "You don't tell anyone okay?"  
Clint nodded. He wasn't going to argue with anything Trickshot said, not when he was in this kind of mood. Clint's mouth felt like it was on fire, and the ground was spinning. He’d say anything to just get out of there.. But Trickshot seemed to think he needed another incentive.

"If you do try and tell someone, I'll tell Natalya's father exactly what she's been up to."

Despite the fact his mouth was agony, Clint shook his head, looking up at fear in his mentor. Trickshot evaluated him for a few moments, and then nodded, seeming to decide the damage wasn’t that severe .  
"Good. Now, go and see if Banner's free."  
Clint picked up the tooth, trying to stop shaking. He didn’t normally get hit in the face. He was frightened. He scuttled out of the way of the older man.

Banner was an oddball - he was very smart, at least that was what everyone had said. He had joined the circus a few years back when he was on the run from... Clint wasn't quite sure what. He'd heard someone say that it was the police, that he had killed someone. But someone else had said that it was aliens, and a third had suggested the army. Whatever the reasoning, they all left him to himself most of the time, and focussed on looking after each other.

But despite his self-imposed exclusion from the circus at large, Banner had one very very useful skill, one that was absolutely crucial as far as the rest of the performers were concerned. He was a doctor, and was willing to treat the members of the show for very little. In Clint's case, if he turned up alone or Trickshot refused to pay, he was willing to fix him for no more than a smile.

Clint made his way to Banner's tent, still clutching his tooth, blood running down his lip. He passed some of the other members of the circus, but they didn't see him. He wasn't surprised, he was used to being hurt rendering you invisible. Everyone had enough concerns of their own to worry about him.

"Hey..." Banner looked up from the book he was reading when he heard Clint approach. That was another thing that Clint found strange about the older man - he read when he wasn't doing things. He read a lot, all different kinds of books, because he thought it was fun. Clint sometimes considered asking him for help with his reading, but he wasn't sure if that would sound stupid, and he didn't want to embarrass himself. He looked at him and gasped slightly.

"Shit, Clint..." Bruce made his way over, looking at the damaged tooth and washing it. "Trickshot?" A silent nod was all the confirmation Banner needed. "Come inside, take a seat, I'll get this ready to go back in, it might hurt though, okay?"

Clint nodded again, he wasn't going to argue, he just wanted the bleeding to stop. Bruce sat him down, and tilted his head back, getting a cloth to try and mop up the blood, before carefully replacing the tooth. "Don't push at it with your tongue..."

Clint looked up at him, trying to resist the urge to poke at it with his tongue the very moment he had been told not to. He was never good at listening when people said not to do things.

"Clint..." Bruce ruffled his hair fondly. "I mean it. You need that tooth, so don't poke it."  
"Fine..." Clint pouted, but he brightened a moment later when Bruce handed him a lollypop. He went to shove it in his mouth, but Bruce stopped him.

"You need to have a drink of water first, and wash your mouth out, gargle first, then drink the second mouthful, I don't want you making yourself sick okay?"

Clint nodded, taking the water and spitting out the blood, before drinking. It did feel better to have the metallic taste out of his mouth, and he had a lollypop to crunch on, so that was good. Bruce was watching him with a sad look in his eyes.  
"It's wrong this happens Clint..." He told him, his voice so quiet that Clint could hardly hear it. Clint shrugged a little, and Bruce ruffled his hair again. Clint liked it when he did that.

"Stane... shouldn't let this happen." Bruce muttered, but more to himself than Clint. Clint shifted awkwardly, not quite liking how Bruce seemed distracted, but a moment later Bruce turned his attention to him. "You weren't ever here when Fury was ringmaster, were you?"

Clint shook his head - he'd turned up a few months after the man's death. What he had heard of the man wasn't exactly encouraging - he'd heard that he could be angry, and that he would yell and swear a lot. But then sometimes, he'd hear the other performers speak of him almost sadly, like they missed him. It didn't make much sense to Clint, but then few things did.  
"It's a shame... he would never have let this happen you know? He was a good guy..." Bruce checked Clint over once more, applying creams to some of the bruises, before patting him on the back and letting him go off.  
“That’s all I can do for today, sorry…”  
Clint wasn’t sure why he apologised. Bruce had actually helped, which was more than could be said for the rest of them.

Clint grinned, murmured thanks and walked away, trying to resist the urge to probe his mouth with his tongue. It hurt, but at the same time it felt weird, and he wanted to see what would happen.

"Hello Hawkeye." The girl's voice startled him, especially when he couldn't see where she was. He looked around blankly, until he heard her laugh, and looked up to see that Natasha was balanced carefully on the roof of one of the rides. She jumped down, landing in an elegant crouch beside him, and straightening up with a grin. The grin quickly faded when she saw the bruises, and for a moment her bored expression resurfaced, before that too slid away.

"I... am sorry." She spoke hesitantly. "I hope you are not angry I run. I did not..." She shrugged after a moment. "I am not meant to talk to you."  
"It's fine." He muttered, feeling a bit angry she had deserted him, but he relaxed a little when she reached for his hand. It wasn’t like she could have protected him anyway.

"I was enjoy watching you. You are very good. I think you are the best archer ever." There was a sincerity in her voice which made him smile despite himself.  
"Thank you Natasha." He nodded. "Well, I will be. When I get to be a superhero, I am going to be the best..." He spoke now, animated, relieved he wasn't alone again. He retreated to his stories, sharing them with her.

"You will be."  
"I was thinking about it. I want a big tower, in New York, and it will have loads and loads of rooms, and a comfortable bed, and it will be the best tower ever. There will be a huge kitchen, and it will have loads of food. And I thought...it'd be lonely, right? So you can live with me. I'd like that. You can live with me, and ..." He hesitated, trying to think of what would be good for a girl, if he was going to be a superhero. "And you could be a princess."

She looked at him and tilted her head, then screwed up her nose a little in disgust.  
"No."  
"You don't want to live with me?" He asked, suddenly frightened. She was meant to be his friend, he didn't want her to run away, not in their game, not like this. 

"I want to live with you. But I not be a princess. I do not want..." Her eyes darkened for a moment. "I do not need a prince."  
"You can be whatever you want to be Natasha, I promise, I'm sorry if I upset you..." Clint spoke quickly, not wanting to make her leave. He'd try hard, as long as she stayed.

"I want to be a superhero too." She answered quickly. "And I am going to be just as good as you."  
"Of course you are." Clint answered quickly, surprised she thought that was even up for question. She would be the best superhero, and so would he. "So what are you going to have as your power?"  
"I do not need a power. I have good balance, I can dance. I use that and that I can tightrope well. I'm go to be..." She nibbled her lip thoughtfully. "I'm go to help you. And I'm go to kill bad men." Her eyes shone then, and her lips narrowed. Clint shivered a little. His friend scared him at that moment. But he nodded.  
"You need a superhero name."  
"I do..." She looked at him, and the darkness was gone, a childish smile on her face. "You help choose?"  
"I'll help you choose" He grinned, trying to think. "It needs to be something deadly..." He looked at her, brow furrowed with concentration. “How will you kill them?”  
“I trap them, in web, like spider. With lies and smiles. I be close and get them to tell me all.” She was smiling then. “People talk easy to stupid girl who does not speak English good. They think she not hear.”

Clint nodded, trying to remember what Bruce had told him after he’d been bitten by a brown recluse and it had made him sick. Bruce had taken good care of him, and he’d got a couple of days off of performing, even if he’d had to go back after that, when he was weak on his feet and with a wound that would become a scar on his leg. Bruce had been telling him all about spiders, because he’d been asking about them. That knowledge was useful now.  
“There’s a spider called the black widow. She eats her boyfriends. And she can kill people.” He grinned at Natasha. “Maybe you can have that?”

“Hawkeye and Black Widow…” she repeated quietly, thinking it over. “Yes. I think that will be very good.”  
Clint nodded.  
“I know. We can be the best superheroes ever.”  
Her hand squeezed his for a moment, and small fingers ran over a bruise.  
“We shall be. We shall be very best. And we get rid of man who hurt you.” Clint nodded, looking up at her, then looking away, not sure he wanted to think of Trickshot and the others here when he was a hero.

“We’ll save other people.” He offered after a moment as a compromise. “And everyone will be scared of us. No one will ever hurt us again.”  
She nodded, looking at the bruises, a finger reaching out to touch the cream.  
“Someone help you?”  
“Yeh. I’ll take you to see him.” Clint got to his feet and offered her his hand but was stopped by a shout in Russian.  
“No, I late to practice. I must to go. I see you.” Natasha ran off, and Clint looked after her, fighting the urge to poke his tongue against the damaged tooth again.


	3. The Hulk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a show, Clint is once again joined by his friend as a fight rages outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Mentions of violence and alcohol abuse in this chapter.
> 
> Betaed by the wonderful ShadowHaloedAngel.

Clint stood in the centre of the ring, his gaze focused on the target, his breathing controlled. He tried not to think of the warning creak of the wood, the signs that he was putting it under too much pressure. The audience was watching, he couldn't leave them disappointed. He knew that Hawkeye would never let anyone down. That was part of being a hero. Not letting people down, not betraying their trust. Around him, dozens of families, most with children around his age, were watching, silent for a moment, captivated, before he released the arrow.

It split its predecessor down the middle, the wood splintering with a crack that was drowned out in a split second by applause from the crowd. Clint grinned, bowing and waving, still holding his bow. He had done well. There was nothing wrong with that performance, he'd done everything he was meant to, and the audience had loved him. He couldn't get in trouble for that. He breathed out slowly as stress bled out of him. He was always tense before performances. But when they went right, he was so happy.

Natasha was performing soon, and so rather than head straight to bed, Clint went to try and catch sight of her. She was amazing, balancing so easily, performing tricks on a piece of rope thinner than her wrist. He had no idea how she moved with such grace, but he could see how easily Black Widow would manage to break into places, and fight people. Natasha was awesome. 

She did some kind of weird flippy somersault, and landed, to more applause from the crowd. Clint didn't stick around. He'd seen what he wanted to, and now he had a bed to find.

He found a quiet corner in one of the trailers, where he had stored his blanket the previous night. He curled up in it, in the shadows and among bags and boxes. It was the closest to privacy he could get. He was glad for it, even if it was cold and the floor was hard. It was a spot where he could think, make up more stories. 

He fell into sleep, his dreams full of the tower he would share with Natasha, and of the lives they would save. People would carry backpacks with their picture on, and little kids would dream of being them. He smiled in unconsciousness.

A loud shout disturbed the peace of the night, and Clint jerked awake, listening in horror to the shouting - it was a mixture of Russian and something else, with words of English thrown in to it. He tensed as props and boxes went crashing to the ground, with the sound of glass breaking and splintering wood. His heart was racing.

He tried to work out who it was that was involved. If it was Trickshot, he'd have a lot to answer for later, regardless of how well he had done. There was always something he could be blamed for. There was Natasha's father, and some of his friends, he couldn’t hear Trickshot’s voice, but there was another… Natasha’s father, some of his friends and... His heart sunk as he recognised one of the voices, and he snuck out to look, watching as Bruce punched Natasha's father in the jaw, sending him crashing back.

Clint guessed Bruce was probably drunk. He didn't like Bruce when he was drunk - but then, Bruce didn't like Bruce when he was drunk. He got angry too easily, was too loud, but he still never hit Clint. He'd just shout at Trickshot, try and hit him, and Clint would pay for it later. Bruce would apologise later, when he was not-drunk, say he wouldn't do it again. But Stane always gave him another bottle, and he'd always take it. 

Two of the other men grabbed Bruce, shoving him against a wall, and Clint looked away at the sound of kicking, and broken gasps of pain. He couldn't help. Now that the fight was over, and the victors clear, he returned to his quiet corner, curling up around himself and trying to tell himself that it didn't matter who had won. It didn't affect him. 

He had just got comfortable under his blanket when Natasha sat down beside him. Clint jumped, he hadn't heard her approach. She pressed a finger to his lips.   
"Please. Hide me. Don't tell them."  
His hesitation was only momentary. Hawkeye would save people, even if he was scared. He moved so that she could slip behind him. pulling an empty sack over her and pushing her back into the shadows. He could feel her shaking, but he tried to fake sleep. 

The door was pushed open, and he nearly peeked, nearly looked up as he heard voices speaking a language he didn't know, approaching him. He felt sick, terrified he'd be caught, that he'd be in trouble, but Natasha's hand had found his and he couldn't let go, couldn't betray where she was. 

After almost a minute, when he continued to try and be asleep, the man walked away, and he let himself breathe easily again. He heard Natasha's breath calming as well, and she smiled weakly as she wriggled out from under the sack, her face only just visible in the darkness.

“Thank you.”  
“It…it’s fine… it’s okay Natasha. We’re friends right? We keep each other safe.”  
She nodded, but did not meet his eyes. He could see a bruise, a dark smudge against pale skin, peeking out from the wrist of her leotard. He smiled sadly at her.  
“Your dad’s scary.”  
“He is not my father.” She shot back. Clint frowned, opening his mouth to apologise, but she continued to speak. “He found me. After a fire.”

Clint nodded slowly, not sure what he was meant to say to that. Trickshot wasn’t his father either, he just helped look after him. She smiled weakly at him.   
“But yes. He is scary. That man… he was very kind.” She looked at Clint, gazing into his eyes, her hands held in front of her. “He… he try and look after me. We should go. Go say thank you.”

Pressing his lips together, Clint tried to work out how to tell her it didn’t work that way, that it would only get them in trouble. Before he had a chance to say that though, she had got up, and with a flick of the wrist she pulled the blanket from him. 

Clint let out a startled yelp, trying to hide his shock at the sudden cold but not quite managing to stay quiet. She smiled at him, and Clint was sure she would get him in a lot of trouble, but he couldn’t bring himself to say no to his friend. Anyway, it was cold now. Reluctantly, he got to his feet, and followed her to the rundown trailer that Bruce used to treat people, and that he lived in.

Natasha knocked on the door, and Clint glanced around, frightened that the noise would draw attention. He told himself he was being brave, being a hero, but it was scary. He felt sick. The door creaked open, and a voice from inside hissed.  
“Come in, quick.”

They both slipped inside, and Clint was careful to stay between the larger figure of Bruce, and his fragile friend. He didn’t want her to get hurt by him. Natasha showed no such fear, reaching out for Bruce’s hand, taking it between her own.  
“Thank you.” She whispered, and her voice shook. Clint was worried in case he got angry, but instead Bruce just wrapped an arm around her.

“It’s alright Natalya…” Despite the fact he still sounded drunk, he spoke gently, kindly to her, and she smiled at him. “Are you alright?” When that got no response, he tried again, more gently. “Are you hurt?” He gestured at the bruises. She shook her head. “Are you happy?”  
She nodded mutely. Clint was a little confused – he realised Natasha spoke better English than this, but he knew she knew what she was doing. If she didn’t want to talk, he wouldn’t make her.

Bruce staggered slightly, grabbing a lighter, and roughly pressing it into Clint’s hand, pointing at the table. Clint made his way there, seeing a candle, and lit it, ready at any moment to jump back if Bruce lashed out. 

The candlelight illuminated Bruce’s arms and face, what was visible beneath the muddy white t-shirt he was wearing. A trickle of blood had stained the skin from his nose to his mouth, there was a bruise on his eye, a split lip, a cut on his cheek, and lots of other cuts and scrapes. One arm in particular had already turned a worrying shade of purple. Bruce sat down, closing his eyes.  
“I’m sorry kids.” He muttered. Natasha climbed onto his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and resting her head against his shoulder.  
“No. No sorry.”   
Again, he ruffled her hair, hissing slightly at the movement.

Natasha ran a finger around the edge of the largest bruise. Clint watched, and told himself he had to be brave, even if he was scared. He picked up some of the bandages that Bruce had left lying around, and wrapped them around Bruce’s arm. It wasn’t neat, or tidy, but Bruce smiled anyway so Clint thought that meant it was good enough. When he was finished, trying to tie the ends in a knot, Bruce looked at them again.  
“You kids better not be in here. Go back and try and get some sleep, I’ll… I’ll see you soon.” He looked them both in the eye in turn. “Natalya, I am sorry. And Clint… thank you for the bandages.”

Taking that as their sign to leave, both children slipped away into the night, returning to their earlier resting place and curling up beside each other. Clint wanted to just fall asleep, to make the most of the chance he had to rest while he still had it, but Natasha clearly had other plans. She curled up beside him, the way she had cuddled up to Bruce.  
“I think he a good man. Very good. Very kind.”

“I guess?” Clint agreed, not seeing where this was going.  
“I think he could be hero too.”  
“I dunno…” Clint frowned. He didn’t want to share his game with too many people. Natasha was special, a child like him, but adults always ruined everything if they got the chance.  
“We need not tell him he a hero…” She pleaded. “But he be hero. What if Black Widow and Hawkeye get hurt? They need doctor.”  
“I…” Clint sighed, closing his eyes and holding Natasha’s hand. “I guess he can be the doctor. And he can live in the tower.”

“Alright.” Natasha’s victory was clear in her voice, and Clint would have been annoyed if it was anyone else. But this was Natasha, and she wasn’t annoying. “He live in tower.” With that settled in her mind, she fell into sleep. 

It was a little longer before Clint joined her. He was still thinking about what had happened that day, trying to make sense of Bruce.

By the time he woke up in the morning, Natasha was gone.

He found her when he went to look for breakfast, sat beside Bruce as he wrapped her arm in a fresh bandage. Bruce was talking to her, singing softly under his breath, and she was smiling, even if she pretended not to understand. He finished the bandage and she got up, just as her not-father and his friends walked past, making Bruce draw back in fear. She cowered against him, and Clint wanted to go and yell, make everything alright. But that wasn’t how these things worked, he knew that.

Natasha moved away from Bruce, heading over to Clint when she saw him, waving. She slipped behind a tent, and he followed after a moment, sitting down with her on the ground.  
“I… it does not make sense.” She spoke carefully, choosing each word. “He was so brave, last night, even when he drink, when he angry, but today he scared. It is… I prefer when he not drink. But he more hero…”  
“That…” Clint started, knowing he had to think on his feet. This wasn’t a question he had been expecting. He could remember Barney saying once, when he was still around, about evil twins, and demons, and monsters. It had been late, and Barney had been trying to scare him. Maybe he could use that to explain this. “That’s because Bruce isn’t just Bruce.”   
“Of course he is.” Natasha answered.

“Nuh. He… Um. He’s got a monster, that’s his superpower. When he’s…” The first word that sprung to Clint’s mind was drunk, but he got the feeling that wasn’t the one to use. “When he’s angry. His monster takes over.”  
“Oh…” She nodded, considering this new information. “The monster did a fight to protect me?”  
“Yeh. And lots of people think the monster is scary. Because it’s a monster. But it’s not bad. It looks after people who are scared. Like, last night. It did that.”   
She thought about this.  
“It not evil. It just strong, and angry, and brave. Not bad.”  
“Not bad.” Clint echoed. “So, Bruce can be the doctor, and his monster can be a superhero and protect scared children. The monster needs a name though. So we can include it in the stories.”  
“Hulk.” Natasha supplied quickly. “Hulk. Is… is a monster I hear about. Big and green and brave. Not bad. Just strong. We use Hulk.”

“Sure.” Clint shrugged, not able to argue with that. “I saw you perform last night. You were good.”  
“I know.” She looked happy when she said that. “I did not make mistake. I can eat today.”  
“Then let’s get some food.” He stood, and reached down to help her to her feet. She stood up without his help, but then grabbed his hand.


	4. Thor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The circus is moving on, and Clint finds he's not the only member who can tell stories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Misuse of Norse mythology
> 
> Thank you again to the wonderful Shadowhaloedangel for betaing, and also to dear Ephinee who gives the most amazing reviews.

Moving between towns was one of Clint's favourite things in life, alongside the shows themselves. The entire circus became a mess of activity as the last two weeks were left behind and a new journey was set out on. There was a lot to do, and everyone was busy.

Clint himself owned very little, so it wasn't hard for him to pack what he needed. Once that was done, he would go and help Trickshot, and Barney if he was around. Then, and only then, was Clint free to try and help the other performers. 

He might get some sweets out of it if he was lucky, or at least he would get noticed by them, and he might get to do something cool, or see a trick that they hadn't yet readied for performance. He kept an eye out for Natasha as he rushed around, carrying things, but he couldn't see her anywhere.

He saw Bruce though, and the man waved at him. Clint waved back, then ran over towards him - he was between jobs for the moment.  
"You need any help?"  
"If you don't mind just tidying up that table? Thanks Clint, I really appreciate it."

Clint shrugged slightly, but did as he was asked, small fingers deftly picking up plasters, bandages and pills, slipping all of them in the right containers and then standing back and pointing towards it. Bruce ruffled his hair.  
"Well done... I'll see you soon okay Clint? and if you can avoid getting hurt, that'd be great."  
"I'll try." Clint grinned, running off again, to find someone else to help. He felt more confident now. Bruce liked him, he was pretty sure, and he couldn't think of a better person to have managed to befriend than the resident doctor. Maybe Bruce would help Tasha too. 

He could imagine that Bruce would make a good doctor for Hawkeye and Black Widow. Of course, he was sure they wouldn't get hurt much. They were heroes, they weren't going to get beaten. But there was a chance they'd get into fights, and one of them would get hurt before the other one could save them. So having a doctor would make sense. 

Bruce might like the stories, Clint thought, but he didn't want to tell him. As far as he was concerned, his stories were for him and Tasha, and the two of them alone. Anyone else being involved would spoil it. 

Clint was sat in Bruce's trailer when they moved off - Bruce was busy keeping things under control elsewhere, which meant it was quiet and he could be alone. At least, he thought he could be alone - it only took a few moments for Natasha to appear, sitting down beside him comfortably and stretching out her legs.

"Hey Tasha." Clint greeted her easily. She smiled at him, and he noticed she didn't seem to have any fresh bruises today. He didn't have any either, they'd both had a good few days. She yawned.   
"I have a nap. Wake me if anything happen."  
"Sure thing Tasha..." He picked up a blanket that was in the corner, throwing it over her, and then wrapping another around his own legs. It was comfortable like this. He'd be happy waiting. 

Soon the movements started, slow and steady, a comforting rocking of the trailer as it journeyed on. Clint fell asleep, and his dreams were peaceful.

He woke to the sound of shouting - but this time it wasn't angry shouting, more the shouting that just happened sometimes if you had a big group of people, all trying to do things at once. Beside him, Natasha stretched once more.

"Shall we go explore?" She asked, and he hesitated but nodded. Trickshot would shout if he was needed, and he'd explore the area for a little with her and then go and help people unpack. He tried to convince himself that wasn't going to end in trouble for him, but he wasn't quite sure he believed it. He was just bad at saying no to his friend.

The two of them ran around the forming camp, whispering under their breath. Natasha was telling him about the adventures she had made for them to go on together, and Clint listened carefully, and added his own twists, with Black Widow sometimes getting them into trouble and Hawkeye having to save her, rather than it always being the other way around. Both of them wanted to be the hero. 

Clint started to tell a story about the two of them fighting robots, and Natasha decided that Hulk could help as well. Clint grinned, trying to do an impression of Hulk stomping around, and smashing things. Natasha giggled and tried to copy him. 

They were so busy laughing that they ran straight into Thor, earning a frantic shout from the large man as he pushed them out of the way of the weights that crashed to the ground.

He glared at them, but again there was no anger there - fear and shock yes, but certainly not anger. He held them both against him for a moment.  
"Be careful, please." He asked, his voice softer than its normal roar. "I would hate for you to get hurt."

"We'll be careful." Natasha promised him, looking up at him with a shy smile that was almost startling. She was so good with people. Clint had to admire that.

"Do be." Thor instructed them both, gazing with such sincerity that Clint found himself nodding along. Seeming satisfied, Thor moved away, bending to pick up the weights. Clint would have offered to help, but he knew that Natasha and he couldn't lift one of them between them, so it would be pointless.

"Look, you two go and help, and then come and see me later. I'll make some dinner."  
Natasha looked almost reluctant, but Clint grinned and nodded. He pulled Natasha away when he realised she wasn't doing anything.

"Natasha. You should say thank you." He reprimanded her. She gave a small shrug.  
"I do not know why he offer dinner. Until I know why, I will not say thank you."

Clint rolled his eyes.  
"He offered because he likes having people around him. He makes good food, it's kind of weird and has fish in a lot, but it's good and warm. So we should go."   
There was a quick, sharp nod from Natasha, and then she scurried away. Clint tried not to worry about her, even if Natasha could be funny sometimes. 

Setting up the circus was harder work than packing it up, and involved a lot more shouting, but Clint was still able to help, and by the end of the work his pockets had about ten sweets in. He thought he could give Natasha one or two of them. He was exhausted from fetching and carrying, and he hadn't managed to get any practice at all, but he told himself it was alright. He would go and see Thor, and then after that he could practise, and then he could sleep. The sky was already pitch black and above the stars were shining bright enough that you could see even without the lights of the circus. He wouldn't be sleeping until very late, but he couldn't let that bother him.

He made his way towards Thor's tent, and was hit by the strong smell of fishcakes. That was good. He liked fishcakes. He was always glad of extra food, of any kind, but Thor had once given him something that was apparently fish that had gone off slightly. Thor seemed to like it, but Clint much preferred his fish to be hidden and not rotten.

Natasha was already sat in Thor's tent, and her earlier rudeness seemed to have disappeared entirely. She was giggling, watching the larger man, who was busy waving his hands about in the air. 

"Hawk!" Thor boomed, walking over and picking Clint up, holding him and ruffling his hair. Clint wriggled and tried to escape, but he was put down after a moment and he still embraced Thor.

Normally, Thor was more quiet than this, but it seemed he had deliberately chosen somewhere to put his tent that was some distance from the others - which was almost certainly a relief to everyone, considering how loud he could be when he spoke.

"I hope that you are well little hawk. I have food for you." He passed over a bowl of fish cakes, with mashed potato, and Clint took it, taking a seat beside Natasha and watching the strong man curiously.

"You missed the start of our talk. I was telling Lady Natasha about the legends of my homeland."  
Clint tilted his head to the side, feigning interest. It might well turn out that this was interesting, he wasn't sure, but until he knew he would certainly pretend to care. It might mean future food.

"It was very good." Natasha prompted, her body angled towards Thor as she rapidly finished the food he had given her. She looked delighted by him, with no sign of her earlier anger or thoughts that he was greedy. "I particularly like the story about the cat."

Thor laughed loudly, and turned to Clint.  
"Yes, I must tell you. My people once believed in lots of gods. I myself am named after Thor, the god of thunder. He was proud and strong, and he wished to prove his strength, so no one could doubt him. In one tale he tries to lift a giant cat to show that he is strong, but in the end he is only able to lift a single paw."

"I see?" Clint replied, not as good at this as Natasha was. He ate his own food, impressed by the speed the other two ate.   
"As the god of thunder, Thor had a magic belt and a hammer. My people believed that when there was lightning, it was Thor throwing his hammer. He was often friends with the trickster Loki, but sometimes Loki took the games too far and people got hurt. In this story though, no one gets hurt."

Clint thought that stories where no one got hurt were the best kind of story, so he waited for him to carry on. Natasha yawned slightly, and Thor reached out to pat her hair before continuing.  
“Well, Thor’s hammer was important, magical and he needed it for the storms. It got stolen, and he couldn’t let it stay in the hands of evil giants. The giants demanded a goddess for their wife, but Thor didn’t want her to get hurt, so he and Loki dressed up and went instead.”

Natasha pursed her lips together, thinking over what he had said, clearly not quite following it.  
“He went as the giant’s wife?”   
"Well, he didn't want to marry him." Thor explained. "But he needed his hammer back. So he dressed up as a bride, with Loki by his side as his bridesmaid, and they went to the realm of the giants. Now, giants aren't very clever, which is good because Thor wasn't very good at pretending to be a bride. He ate two oxen on his own during the meal, and only avoided that being noticed because Loki said that he hadn't eaten because he was excited. Some versions of the story even say he didn't remember to shave his beard."

Clint couldn't hold back a soft laugh at the thought of the god there on his wedding day, trying to be a bride with a big bushy beard. Thor gave both children a little more food before finishing it off.  
"At the end of the ceremony, just before they are married, the hammer was placed into Thor's hands. He was able to use it against the giants, and then take himself and Loki home. So in the end, he got his hammer back, and everything was good."

"Thank you." Natasha beamed up at Thor, finishing her bowl of food, and a moment later Clint's was also empty.  
"You had both better go now, but come back soon and I will tell you more stories." Thor prompted, shooing them out of the way.

"I think." Natasha started, and Clint frowned. He didn't want her to make Thor into a superhero too. It wouldn't be special if everyone was. But she ignored his frown and carried on.  
"I think that Thor is Thor. The story Thor. He seems funny and eats funny food because he from the land of giants and snow. I think he just pretend to be strong man. Somewhere he has hammer, and he can use it to make lightning."

Never particularly keen on storms, that idea was enough to persuade Clint to consider it for a few moments longer, before he nodded his acceptance. Having a god on their side would be good.  
"Next time there is storm, it will be alright. We will know is Thor. He would not hurt us." Natasha reassured him.

"I thought you said he was a greedy man?" Clint shot back, sounding almost angry, even if he had no reason to be. She hesitated, then nodded.   
"He was greedy man. He is greedy man. But he good man too. And good cook"

Clint supposed he couldn't argue with that.


	5. Iron Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint has a new trick to perform, and is terrified of the consequences of getting it wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to Shadowhaloedangel for betaing.  
> Warnings: Severe violence against children (not graphic), alcohol abuse, fear - please don't read if you might find this triggering

After the inclusion of Thor in their stories, the two children spent a few calmer weeks on the road. Clint had a new trick to rehearse, and Natasha had disappeared off somewhere. He even wondered if she might have left the circus, but he knew that she would have said if she was being taken away, even if it meant she got in trouble. That was just how Natasha was.

Those thoughts helped him to relax enough to sleep, and whilst he did keep an eye out for her, he was careful not to search at times that would get him into trouble. He told himself she wasn’t worth it. It was still no use. Sometimes he'd catch a glimpse of her not-father, or another of her not-father's friends, but he didn't see her. 

One night, when sleep was eluding him, he realised that if the positions were reversed, she would have found him by now. That knowledge drove Clint to make a decision. He would stay in the tent after the next performance, and find where she was hiding. She was meant to be his friend, she wasn't allowed to run away, and anyway he liked watching her perform.

She would turn up. No one was allowed to miss performances, that was one of Stane’s rules. Now that he had a plan in place, Clint allowed himself to relax, and rather than spending much time worrying about Natasha, he devoted himself to rehearsals.

He would need to debut his new trick soon, and he wanted it to be perfect. He was frightened he would mess it up – the consequences for that would not be pleasant. He was busy selecting a suitable arrow when he became aware of someone else in the tent - not by the noises they made, but rather the strange silence that was too quiet to be emptiness. He completed the shot, then turned to smile at Natasha.

She smiled back.  
"I thought I would come watch."

Clint opened his mouth to ask where she had been, then closed it again. She was pale, and looked like she had slept worse than him. He wasn't going to upset her. Not when it might make her stop being friends with him.  
"I had a secret mission." She informed him with a whisper, and he laughed a little. She giggled, and just like that, the tension between them was gone. 

"Well, you just rest up and watch this." He told her, notching the arrow and shooting again at the target. The arrow pierced straight through the bullseye, travelling through it and into the centre of the target beyond. It was a simple trick, but it looked effective enough. This was just the warm up though. The other trick, the scary one, he had to be blindfolded for. He had to be blindfolded and hit a bullseye, and just the thought of attempting that made him feel sick. 

But it was what he had to do. Trickshot had told him, and he wasn’t going to argue with that. He picked out the blindfold, and she gasped, seeming to understand.  
"You have to shoot with that?"  
Clint nodded, his lips pressed close together by nerves. She didn't laugh, just walked over, resting her hand on his back.  
"You don't need to worry. I'll help you." She took the blindfold from him, fastening it over his eyes. "I do tricks with blindfold before. On tightrope is not so hard, you know which way to go. But for you... must be hard, yes?"

Clint nodded, his fingers itching slightly as he curled and uncurled them. It was hard, but he didn't want it to be. He wanted to be able to do this, to know that he could, but he was so afraid of messing it up. Trickshot would be so angry if he did this wrong. He lifted the bow, and began to draw the string.

"No. You are off to side..." Hesitantly, he swung it around, and when he reached a certain angle, she let out a whistle. Keeping his arrow fixed on the point she had indicated, he drew back the string and then let it fly. The arrow hit the target, digging deep into the wood.

Clint pulled off his blindfold to look, flinching a little when he realised it was a nine not a bullseye. It wouldn't be good enough for the show. But Natasha was smiling.

"You did well. You can do better. I will whistle. I will whistle to say when you close, and then you can shoot. That way you will not be in trouble, yes? That be good?"

Clint looked at her hesitantly.   
"You sure?"  
"I certain. I whistle, and then you can shoot."

Relaxing, Clint ran through the trick ten more times. Now, with Natasha's help, he hit the target towards the middle, and all three of the last shots were dead in the centre.   
"Thanks." He felt like he might actually manage this trick now, that he could give the performance that was being demanded, that he could avoid another beating. He didn't like the loss of his sight, but it didn't need to ruin his ability to perform.

"You can't be on stage." He told her, suddenly nervous as he realised the complication. If she was seen, the trick wouldn’t be so good. She shrugged.  
"I don't need to be. I can hide up near the roof of the tent, or in the audience, or in the wings. And I will make sure you hear me."

"I will listen as hard as I can." Clint promised.

After that, the two of them were careful to see each other regularly, to try and practice. Natasha was invaluable as help with his trick, and he helped her as well, helping her to plan a new dance to some music. He brought her food whenever he had even the smallest scrap spare, and in return she would listen when he told her about Barney. They both felt more confident than they ever had before, and Clint was looking forwards to showing his trick to a big crowd, knowing that they would be impressed as always by something that came so naturally to him. He had to work for this trick, so their applause would mean more to him than ever.

Right before the show, Natasha came up to him, dressed in her stage outfit of black and red.  
"You can do this. Just do as we practice. I have faith that you can do. You did in rehearsal." She squeezed his hand, and Clint nodded.   
"Yeh." He watched as she slipped away, waiting for his chance to perform.

Trickshot's performance was first, and Clint watched with slight envy - some of the tricks here were still beyond him. He was sure that in a few months, or a few years, he would be a better archer, but he hated having to wait. He'd never been very good at being patient.

Soon though, it was his turn to step out on stage, waving and bowing at the applause. He was a favourite with the children, always had been. He raised his bow, and the audience fell quiet. He took a few deep breaths, and began to shoot. It was comforting to perform. To stand before the crowd, to know they were watching, and to know they were admiring him. 

Towards the end of the act, he started his new tricks. A second target was placed before the first, and he shot through both of them, the arrow striking yellow twice. Then it was time for him to be blindfolded. 

His hands shook as he fastened the material over his own eyes. He was going to be in trouble if he messed this up, he knew he was. This was new, and he couldn't afford to ruin it. He took another breath. He couldn't let his hands shake. That could cost him the shot, get him into more trouble. 

Finally, he brought up the bow. The silence wasn't reassuring any more. It was nearly deafening. He pulled the string taught, and made the tiniest of movements, stopping when he heard Natasha's whistle from behind him. He released it, and there was a reassuring thud. He tore off the blindfold, and a wave of relief crashed through him.

It was a perfect shot.

He bowed, and readied an arrow for his final shot - splitting the last one down the middle. He pulled the bow string taught once more, looking straight ahead, and something beside his ear creaked. He tried to ignore it, letting go of the arrow, and watched in horror as it was sent to the side, the bow cracking in his hands as the arrow landed on the floor of the tent.

Clint felt sick. The arrow hadn't struck the target. Hadn't even got close. He couldn't remember the last time he had missed this badly. He never ever missed this badly. He was in trouble, and he knew it. He'd gone pale, he was sure of it, and he could feel his whole body shaking. The bow was in his hands, two pieces connected by a string. Worthless. 

He had to finish the performance. He bowed, and the audience still cheered. But he could barely think. He raced out of the tent the first chance he got, jumping slightly when he found Natasha waiting for him. She wrapped her arms around his waist, nuzzling up close.   
"Is okay. Is okay." She promised, but he knew that she was lying. He was still staring at the ruined bow, eyes wide with horror. "Is okay Clint."

He didn't fight her. Didn't even bother to point out she had to perform soon. He wasn't strong enough to move away.  
"Is okay." She kept repeating it, as though if she said it enough times, it would be true. He didn't protest, let her steer him from the tent. He'd be found. It didn't matter if they tried to run. But she wasn't running.

"We need to get that fixed." She informed him. "I hear the others say Tony can fix things. Is worth a try."  
"I... I don't have any money." Clint muttered. He knew how things worked. No one did anything for nothing.  
"Is okay. I find a way." Natasha's hand squeezed his. "Anyway. Bruce help you for nothing, yes? Maybe Tony do same."

Clint looked at her, trying to say he didn't believe that, but judging by her expression, he realised she already knew. He let her lead him to the engineer's trailer.

Tony spent half of his time wasted on alcohol, and the other half busy making things - he kept the rides running, which was his job, and made small toys to sell to the children at the carnival. Not that he sold them - he refused to interact with the public. He got one of the other riggers, a sickly guy by the name of Steve, to sell them for him. Clint knew Tony was clever, but that didn't mean he didn't scare him. He stunk of booze, he swore and was quick to anger. Normally, Clint would do anything he could to avoid him. But right now that wasn't a luxury he could afford.

Clint felt sick, and he knew he was shaking. He was still clutching the broken bow, not daring to put it down for a moment. Natasha knocked on the door, and smiled sweetly at the man who opened it, looking up at him with innocent wide eyes and a soft expression.  
"I wondered if you could help my friend please. His bow broke."

Tony looked at the two children, glaring, and for a moment Clint thought he was going to just be sent away. But then Tony moved to one side.

"Come in."  
Clint walked into the trailer and flinched. The air was thick with the scent of booze - he wondered if Stane was as eager to give Tony alcohol as he was with Bruce.   
"What's wrong with you?" He asked Clint, and there was a coldness to his voice that left Clint feeling frightened. But he swallowed and made himself answer.  
"Bow." He held it out. Further words escaped him.

Tony looked it over, and whistled low, shaking his head.   
"I can't fix that kid. It wouldn't be worth it, anyway. It's fucked."  
Clint felt his face crumple as terror overwhelmed him and he clung to Natasha. She looked up at Tony, her eyes wide and sad.   
"Please help him. I do anything if that will help you to fix it."

Tony looked at her, then at Clint, and sighed.  
"I can't fix it. But I can make you a better bow okay? Did you get in trouble about this one?"

Clint nodded, feeling sick.  
"It break in performance. He miss last shot." Natasha informed him. Clint felt a chill as he remembered that Tasha shouldn't be here - she was meant to be on stage, and if she wasn't she would be in trouble.  
"Go." He pushed her. "Go and do the show, please..."

She bit her lip, looking between Tony and Clint. Tony nodded slightly, and she flinched but turned away.   
"I will tell Bruce when my show finish." She promised and left, running back to the tent. Clint relaxed a little, but he was still holding onto his bow.

Clint felt small with Tony looking at him. He did not want to get a beating from him as well, didn't know what he could have done to deserve one. But he'd learned already that if someone wanted to hit you, they would find a reason. Tony was looking at him in a way he could best describe as calculating, sizing him up, and Clint curled up.

"Trickshot gonna be angry with you?" Tony asked, and there was a slight nod in response. Clint didn't want to think about that, but he wouldn't risk not answering when he needed Tony's help. "Alright, sure..." Tony rambled to himself, grabbing a scrap of paper and making notes. "Need you to keep your hands safe kid. You only can perform if you're not injured there, and it'll be bad if you can't perform."

Clint nodded, understanding the wisdom of that. He would keep his hands safe. Tony tried to ease the remains of the bow from his hands, but Clint's grip was painfully tight. He didn't want to let go of it.

Tony snorted, pouring himself a drink and tossing it back before turning to Clint.  
"You aren't gonna be able to do much holding onto it. Here, have this." He dug among some boxes, coming out with a model robot about two inches tall - it was shaped like a little man, and painted in red and gold. One of the toys Tony sold.  
"You take that, as an apology that I can't fix your old bow. Hopefully the new bow I'll make will be good enough. I mean, of course it will be, I'm a genius, but I'm not meant to do that and some doubt is good. Steve will yell if I carry on boasting so much. Anyway, yeh, you hang onto that..." He asked Clint a few brief questions about his archery, finding out what he had done before, what he was good with, the poundage he was comfortable with and various other factors.

In the past, Clint had been given a bow and had shot with it. It was normally at least second hand, and there was nothing special about it. His most recent one, now in two halves, had had a wonky sight that he'd needed to adjust for or else. But Tony seemed determined to make this bow perfect. Clint just hoped he'd survive to fire it, and that was if Tony actually made it and this wasn't just another betrayal.

The conversation continued until the show ended.

Clint had almost relaxed, had forgotten everything beyond the details of the bow that would be built. But when Natasha slipped back in, he felt himself growing tense. She rested a hand on his shoulder.  
"Trickshot is angry...Clint, please to let me go and talk to him." She was shivering a little. "You my friend. Let me do this."

Tony pressed his lips together in a thin line, and Clint could tell that he didn't approve. Clint wanted to just nod, to say to Natasha that she could go, but he couldn't. He was her friend, but yes, she was his as well. He knew Trickshot wouldn’t just listen to her. He was too angry for that. Clint could not let her take the beating in his place, could not let her get hurt because he was afraid.

"No Natasha. I... I missed the shot. I will go." He embraced her for a moment, and if she saw that he was crying, she didn't say. She was a good friend. 

He looked down at the tiny iron man in his hand. It could be a hero as well, maybe. Another story. Someone who would save Black Widow and Hawkeye when they got trapped, if they found themselves in a situation they couldn't escape. They were meant to be great heroes, but sometimes even heroes were prisoners.  
"You take it..." He held the toy out to Natasha but she shook her head.  
"No. Keep it. It keep you strong, yes?"  
Clint nodded, holding it tightly and walking away.

He headed to Trickshot's trailer, knocking on the door with shaking hands. The door swung open, and he stepped inside, gripping the toy in one of his fists. He swallowed.   
"I need my hands to shoot." He whispered, voice shaking. Trickshot nodded once, and raised a fist. Clint didn't bother to try and count, just fought to stay on his feet as the blows fell.

One particularly hard blow caught his head, and he crumpled to the ground as the world turned black and silent and cold.

"Clint..." The voice was concerned, and soft, and took him a moment to place. Bruce. He tried to open his eyes, and found one was swollen shut. The other opened a crack, allowing him to see he was in Bruce's trailer. Clint swallowed.  
"Hands..." He gasped. Talking hurt.

"Your hands are fine." Bruce promised.  
"You will be okay." Natasha informed him, her hand resting on his. She was sat beside him. "Is okay."

"What..." He gasped, wondering if Trickshot had brought him here. Maybe the other archer knew he'd gone too far. But then, he doubted that.  
"Tony. He save you. He hear you scream, he go and get. He helped." 

Clint's hair was petted by Bruce, and then the doctor got to his feet.  
"I told him I'd let him know when you woke up. You've been out for nearly two days." He told him, and walked away. Natasha's hand stayed on Clint's.   
"You hold onto toy." She told him. "The little iron man. I think... that make Tony happy."

The door opened, and Tony walked inside, hair messy and smelling of alcohol. Clint wrinkled his nose at Tony, but he'd saved him.   
"Thank you." He muttered.  
"'s fine kid. You look like shit. Just rest or something, and I'll keep that bastard off your back until you're healthy again."

Clint nodded, and then he found that nodding hurt.   
"Thank you Tony. I am glad you so kind to us." Natasha supplied.  
"Yeh, whatever. Look, Clint, get up, sit ...yeh..." Strong hands lifted Clint, settling him in a sitting position. "Look, yeh, I got you something, you better look."

Clint opened his working eye when a weight settled onto his lap, and tilted his head to see what it was that Tony had dropped upon him. What he had seen was a shock. A beautiful black recurve bow was resting on his legs, shining. It was made for his size, and it was the most wonderful thing that he had seen.

He raised his hand to touch it, looking up. "Thank you.... it's amazing."  
"Of course it is. I made it. I mean, it’d be better if I’d had more money for it, but I had some shit lying around so I could build that, and it’ll do." With that, Tony left.   
Bruce rolled his eyes and followed him, and Clint looked at Natasha.  
"I think Black Widow and Hawkeye need someone to help them...they need weaponry, and they can't make it."  
"I agree." Natasha answered, looking at the bow. "It is ...it is a bow like Hawkeye should have. It is good."

Clint nodded, hugging the bow to his chest. His entire body ached, he was scared of what would happen the next time Trickshot saw him, and he didn't know how he could ever pay Tony back. But right now, none of that mattered.


	6. Captain America

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Clint recovers, he realises he isn't the only one with dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Mentions of past violence, alcohol abuse.
> 
> Thanks to Shadowhaloedangel again for betaing, and to everyone who left comments or kudos!

Clint lay in Bruce's trailer. Right now, he couldn't stand. His body was a mess of bruises, and everything ached. Bruce was being kind to him though, checking he was alright, Natasha was seeing him when she could. Tony had been absent for the last few days, but the bow that he had given sat proudly on the floor beside his bed. The thought of getting well enough to fire that was motivation for Clint. He was looking forwards to shooting again. 

At the moment he couldn't shoot. His hands might have been uninjured, but the rest of him was a mess and he couldn't move freely enough right now. Bruce said it would be another couple of days. 

Trickshot had been in once, to check on him. Clint had felt his chest tighten in fear, and he had nearly been sick, but Bruce had gone to speak to him, and Trickshot had left. Clint was sleeping a lot, because it made things hurt less, and no one had told him not to. The circus was moving on again, but this time he couldn't help. He could just lie in the bed, staring at the white ceiling or at the metal man that Tony had given him, and try to get better. It wasn't working fast enough, but he didn't have much option.

He couldn't afford to take too long off, he knew that. He had to perform. No one, not even the children, could afford to be dead weight. Trickshot would expect him back on target soon, and Bruce couldn't hold him off forever. 

He lay there, looking at the tiny metal man, and trying to recover. He had a routine of sorts, even if it involved laying there unless Bruce came to change a bandage, to talk with him or to help him wash or eat. He knew when the others were busy - and when they might come and see him. 

Thor hadn't been allowed in, but had sent in a packet of biscuits. The large and overenthusiastic man was considered by Bruce to be too loud for a sick room. At least, that was what they had told him. The truth was far more brutal - Thor would be upset by the state that Clint was in, and might make matters worse. Right now, Clint wasn't strong enough to handle things getting worse.

Tony didn't visit, Bruce was there most of the day, pottering around his trailer, reading to Clint or just talking to himself. He sung under his breath, snatches of songs in languages that Clint had never heard before. For Clint it was starting to feel like being at home.

One evening, Stane came around to talk to Bruce. Before he arrived, Bruce had thrown a blanket over Clint, covering him entirely. He had laid there, his eyes closed against the scratchy fabric, and listened to the conversation, wondering why Bruce had chosen to hide him.  
"He's recovering. He just needs more time."  
"I've given him time enough. I want him back."  
"He can't move properly yet. Another week and-"  
"He can have two days." That proclamation was accompanied by the sound of a glass bottles being clinked together. There was the sound of drinking, and then of the bottle hitting a table, and after that a door slamming. Clint lay still. He didn't want to draw attention to himself, not if Bruce was going to be angry. He lay there and breathed shallowly and tried to ignore the sounds of Bruce muttering to himself, the choked tears that his doctor was trying to hold back.

Natasha had turned up shortly after that. He had listened as she sat Bruce down, gave him a glass of water, and then freed Clint from his covering blanket. She had climbed onto Bruce's lap, talking to him softly, and Bruce hadn't lashed out. Clint was glad about that - he knew Bruce wouldn't want to hit her. He wasn't bad, not like some people. He laid there quietly, trying to get better quickly.

Eventually Bruce slumped back in his chair, exhausted, and began to snore. Clint himself was drifting on the edge of sleep by that point, but he woke up when Natasha climbed in beside him.   
"I got two days, then I gotta be performing again."  
She nodded, and rested her head on his shoulder.  
"It be okay. You be ready. You be good, you have new bow, I know you can do this."

Clint tried to ignore how warm her confidence in him made him feel. She believed in him, and Bruce had helped without ever asking for anything in return. He was beginning to realise that life was a lot more complicated than he had ever thought. She yawned, and he didn't say anything, just let her sleep.

She was gone before he woke up, and what was left of Thor's biscuits were gone too, but that didn't surprise him. Bruce told him he had a busy day, but would send a friend in to sit with him, and that he wanted Clint to try walking, and to try drawing his new bow if he could. 

Clint nodded his agreement, wondering if he would be able to. The last thing he wanted to do was damage the bow by dry firing it, by releasing the string without an arrow. He didn't want to let Tony down. He hated the thought of being a disappointment. 

He curled up in the bed, looking around the empty trailer, hissing slightly as he carefully moved his fingers and toes, and then his legs and arms. Thanks to Bruce's care, there was nothing too seriously damaged, just a lot that hurt. He knew he should be grateful for that. But gratitude didn't come easily when everything was pain.

He wondered who Bruce had sent to help take care of him. That question was answered when the door of the trailer creaked open, and a blond head stuck through the gap, smiling widely before ducking back out. Clint made himself sit up as coughs from outside echoed through the trailer. The movement was still uncomfortable, but the painkillers helped, and he wasn't going to white out from it, so that was about the best he was going to hope for.

The door opened once the coughs subsided, and Steve Rogers, one of the riggers, walked in and pointed to the chair Bruce normally sat in.  
"Do you mind if I?" He asked hesitantly. 

Clint shook his head, looking at the skinny man. He was always surprised by how Steve just kept going with his work - considering his size and how quickly he got ill, Clint would have expected Stane to get rid of him years ago. But Steve was determined, and polite, and friendly, and had managed to stay on.

Steve perched awkwardly at the edge of the chair, and Clint realised with a sense of shock that Bruce didn't have another bed. He must have been sleeping on the chair when Clint was ill. That was a strange thought. It made Clint feel special in a way, but he refused to allow himself to linger on it. That way lay further questions that he couldn't allow himself to ask, thoughts that he might be special. He couldn't let that happen.

"You okay there?" Steve asked quietly, looking at him. "You got hurt real bad, that...I hate the guy. He should never have done that to you, I'm real sorry he did." He reached out to pat Clint's arm. 

"Wish I could do more to help you buddy. But Bruce has asked me to keep an eye on you, and to help you get better, so I'm gonna do that, gonna help you feel better. How are you getting on with your stretches?" Steve smiled as he spoke, and the grin on his face just made Clint want to smile back.

"Getting there." He answered, moving his wrists and ankles once more. "I'm meant to try standing up, are you going to help?"

"Sure..." Steve reached out, helping support Clint's weight. Clint stood gingerly, stretching before taking a few hesitant steps forwards. It was painful, but not unmanageable, so he was grateful for that. Steve's hand remained on his shoulder, a supportive guide.

"How is it?"  
"It's..." Clint bit his lip. "It's okay. I'll be alright."  
"You wanna go to try and shoot?" Steve asked, a wide smile on his face. Normally, Clint would have jumped at the chance, but right now his injuries stopped any jumping from happening. Usually, if he was injured, he might have said no to that, not wanting to risk doing damage to himself or his bow. But he was desperate to try his new bow, to see if he could fire it, and this was going to be the best chance that he got. He nodded quickly.

Steve paused, looking at the smaller boy.  
"I'm not gonna be able to carry you." He said, before picking up the bow. "I carry this, and you lean on me, how does that sound?"

Clint nodded quickly, and leaned against Steve, letting the older boy support his weight. They could do this. Steve stumbled a little, but helped him along to the tent where he practiced. 

Finally, they got there and Steve placed the bow in Clint's hands, finding him an arrow in one of the boxes, sneezing at the cloud of dust kicked up by the movement. He stepped away once Clint took the arrow, his body rattling with the force of his coughs.

Clint tried to ignore them, focusing on the arrow in his hand. He notched it onto the string, positioning his fingers and drawing it back. The movement itself seemed strange, and when he released the arrow it missed the target completely. 

Steve found another arrow, and he tried again. This time, he worked out what the problem was - the draw on the bow was far smoother than he was used to, so he was overcompensating, and the same with the sight - this one would shoot straight rather than need to be adjusted for. Trying to keep it in mind, he drew the bow again.

The string pulled back easily, and Clint was surprised. All the questions Tony had asked had been worthwhile. When he let go, it slammed into the yellow - not quite a bullseye, but good for his second shot with that bow. He picked up another arrow. Steve grinned up at him.

"You're doing good kid... you mind if I sit down here and watch?" He pointed to the floor, behind where Clint was shooting, and Clint shrugged. He couldn't shoot him by accident there.  
For a few minutes, Clint shot in silence, with Steve sat on the ground nearby. The arrows all kept finding their target, and the bow felt natural in his hands.

He still hurt, and the shooting was tiring, but it was worth it. He'd have to stop soon, he knew that, but he planned to keep firing whilst he could.

"Could you stay like that a moment?" Steve asked as he drew back the string on his bow. Clint nodded sharply, biting his lip with the effort it took to stay in that position, to hold himself steady as his muscles ached. "Okay." Steve whispered, and Clint released the arrow, shaking once it was gone. He rested the bow on his foot, careful not to support his weight on it. 

"You getting tired there buddy?" Steve asked, reaching up towards him, and Clint flopped to the ground, his muscles aching. He'd pushed himself too far, but it was worth it. He knew he could still shoot. That was what mattered most to him.

Only once Clint was sat on the floor did he notice that Steve hadn't been sitting still. He had a book open on his lap, with slight sketches of movement on the plain pages. Clint looked carefully at the one he was just finishing, and realised that Steve had been sketching him shoot. He paused, tilting his head.

Steve turned an interesting shade of pink, his face and ears colouring, and clutched the sketchbook to his chest. It took a few moments before he relaxed again, holding it out.

"Here..."  
"These are good." Clint reassured as he took it curiously, looking at the drawings of himself first, before flicking back to previous pages. A lot of the images were just life in the circus, but there were a few others, smaller and tucked into corners. He looked down at them, leafing through until he found a page that was just that individual.

It looked a lot like Steve, if Steve was about twice the height he was now, and closer to Thor's physique than his own. There was a star on his chest, and the outfit he was wearing was shaded with blue.  
"Who is that?" Clint asked curiously. Steve, if anything, blushed worse than before.  
"Captain America..." He muttered. Seeing Clint's gaze still on him, he stuttered worse. "I... I mean...Captain America.... he's in ...in comic books... but...I ... I draw him as..." He took the book back, his blush spreading still as he flicked to another page, an image of 'Captain America' punching Stane. "I draw him as me..."

Clint noticed that on one of the other pages, Captain America was sat next to a figure that looked like the little toy he had been given - but full size, and with Tony's face. That made him smile. Steve just shrugged slightly, curling up.  
"I just like the idea of being a hero. Of saving people. There's too many bad men, and I don't like bullies."

For a second, Clint thought about telling him of Hawkeye, but he realised that would be a betrayal. He instead asked about other drawings. One caught his eye - a sketch of Natasha during her routine, flipping along the tightrope as though she had been born for it. Steve grinned.  
"You her friend huh buddy?"  
Clint nodded, his eyes sincere, and Steve ruffled his hair. "Good job. She needs friends."

Clint relaxed a little at that praise, taking pride in it. He'd done well. He'd managed the shots, and even though he was still trembling with the aftermath of the exercise, he knew he'd done what he needed to. He yawned, relaxing, only to tense when he heard someone else walking in.

"There you are boy..." Trickshot's drawl sent a wave of ice through him, and Clint spun to find Stane and Trickshot both stood there, staring at him. He shuddered worse now. "You managed to shoot then? Good. I want you performing tonight."

Clint blinked back tears. He couldn't. He knew he was too bruised. People might notice. Steve squeezed his shoulder, pushing his sketchbook into Clint's hand and getting to his feet, marching over to them.  
"He's not ready yet. Leave him alone."

Clint watched in horror. Steve was small and skinny, shorter than them and far weaker. But he was standing up to them, for Clint's sake. Clint thought of the drawing of Captain America, and understood why Steve drew him. But that knowledge did nothing to help as Steve was pushed aside.


	7. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint's friendship with Natasha is discovered, and further problems arise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betaed again by the lovely Shadowhaloedangel. Sorry for the delay, I've been having a lot of computer problems, but they're now semi-fixed.
> 
> Warnings: Violence happening off-screen, children being threatened - as always, please stay safe and don't read this if it'll be painful for you.

Clint tried to plaster a smile on his face as he looked up at the two older men. They both looked angry, which wasn't a good sign, but he hoped that he could at least do something to mitigate that anger - and hopefully give Steve time to get out of the way.

"This is where you're hiding then you little shit." Trickshot glared down at him, and Clint felt his stomach twist with fear. He waved one hand over towards the target.  
They both looked to it, and Trickshot nodded.  
"You've got a bow then. Well, I won't ask what you did to get it." 

Stane smiled, and in a way that was far worse than Trickshot's glare. Clint wondered why Tony and Bruce were willing to spend time with him at all. He guessed that maybe they were scared as well.  
"Well, Barton... we've been talking, and you did well with your trick last time, even if you did have some...unauthorised help."

Trickshot nodded.   
"I notice you've been spending quite a lot of time with our little resident tightrope walker..." Trickshot's expression twisted from anger into a smirk, and Clint got the feeling that he preferred the last expression.

"Yeh..." He muttered, looking down, wondering if he'd somehow broken a rule he hadn't even known existed. That wouldn't be the first time. Rules tended to lie in wait for him, to attack at the worst possible moment.

"Would you like to spend more time with her?" Stane offered. Every part of Clint's mind screamed that this was a trick, that this wouldn't happen, that they weren't this nice, but he didn't know what he could say other than the truth. He nodded. Yes. He wanted more time with Natasha. She was his best friend, she made him happy. He wanted to be near her.

"Good." Trickshot nodded in approval, and Clint became even more certain he had walked into a trap.  
"Trickshot here is going to help you choreograph a trick with her..." Stane informed him, leaning in, his face close to Clint's.

It took far longer than it should have done for those words to filter through to Clint. He just kept replaying them in his mind. Finally, by the time Stane had straightened up once more, something clicked in his mind.

They wanted him to shoot at her.

He could feel himself going dizzy. He was still recovering, still injured, and this was too much of a shock for him. He was shaking, and he felt like he needed to pass out.  
"Rehearsals start tomorrow. You have an extra day to recover but you might want to be there." Trickshot sneered, and then they walked away. 

Clint stood there, shaking, trying not to fall over. He lowered himself to the ground, alone now. Steve had left when it was clear that there was nothing that Captain America could do to help.

The thought of messing up the shot was screaming in his mind. He could hurt the only friend he ever really had, the only one who cared about him. He thought of Bruce, of Tony, of Thor, and felt for a moment a sense of warmth, but then it was drowned out once more by sheer terror.

He couldn't do this. He had never had a shot before he couldn't manage, but he couldn't do this one.

"Hawkeye?" Natasha's hand landed on his shoulder, her touch soft, and he jumped. He hadn't heard anyone approach. It was weird how she did that. "Is something wrong?" She moved to sit in front of him, her hands resting on his knees, her face open, honest, a kind smile on her lips. 

"Are you okay?" She asked again, and Clint felt himself relax. Natasha was a mystery to him. She was good at people, and he'd never been good at them. But he shook his head. Because he refused to lie to her, even though she lied to him all the time.

"What is wrong?"  
"They want me to shoot you." He answered, voice shaking.  
"No, they want you to shoot near me. If you shoot me it will be very short act, very boring. People will complain and show get closed. They want you to shoot near me. And that is what you do."

"But if I miss..." Clint whispered.  
"Is okay." She squeezed his hand, and leaned in so her gaze was fixed on his. "Black Widow knows the truth, and so do I. Hawkeye does not miss."

That simple blind faith she had in him was startling, but he knew at that moment he could not let her down. She deserved better than that, and he refused to be the reason she was hurt.

"Come..." Her hand was on his arm now, and she helped him up to his feet. "Let us go back to Doctor Bruce. Maybe he has something to make you shaking stop."  
Clint was a little surprised when he realised he was shuddering violently. He hadn't registered that before. But he wasn't going to try and think about it too much. 

If he shook when he shot he wouldn't be able to control the arrow. He knew that. He had to keep that in the forefront of his mind. But all that knowledge did was make the shaking worse. He didn't want to kill her. 

He let her lead him back to Doctor Banner, allowed him to check him over, answering thanks when he was given a cup of liquid to drink. He didn't like it, it tasted of plants and was almost bitter. But he drank it because he was told to, and afterwards he felt more calm, and a little sleepy.

"I see you tomorrow Hawkeye." Natasha whispered, and slipped away, leaving Clint lying on the bed alone.

When he woke up in the morning, he felt warm and relaxed and comfortable, and he couldn't work out why he had a faint sense of unease. As he sat up though, and the bruises sent a jolt of pain through his body, he remembered. He wished he hadn't.

They wanted him to shoot Natasha. Well, to shoot around her. He'd seen her perform, seen how her limbs whirred through the air, how she could be one place and then another. There would be a lot of space to mess this up and hurt her. Being even a fraction of a second late would be too much. 

"It's okay Clint." That was Bruce's voice. He sounded relaxed, and it helped Clint to remember how to breathe. He followed the doctor's calm instructions, slowly inhaling and exhaling until his heartrate had slowed and he could think. His first thought was about the whereabouts of his friend.  
"Where is Natasha?"

"She is helping Stane to sort out a few things." Bruce answered after a moment's hesitation. "He has a new assistant, so she was just showing them around."

Clint nodded, frowning when the door opened, and Natasha walked in, her hand around that of an older woman. The newcomer was beautiful, with pretty red hair and a soft smile. She looked a little like Natasha in some ways, but the eyes were as different as it was possible to be.  
"Bruce, Clint, this is Miss Potts..." Natasha began, but before she could continue the woman ran to Clint, looking him over, noticing the bruises.  
"What happened to you?"  
"Fell."

She looked up at him in a way that made him scared she didn't believe him, that she would get him in trouble, but she didn't say anything more. Instead, she turned to Bruce.  
"Natasha here says you help with first aid?"

Bruce nodded, and the two adults began to talk. The bed sunk slightly as Natasha sat on it, her hand reaching for Clint's own. He squeezed it. The adults seemed to remember them then, with Pepper reaching out, picking up the small iron figure Tony had given him. She turned it over in her hands.  
"This is good..."  
"It was a gift from one of the men who put up rides." Natasha supplied the information, deftly taking the toy back from her and handing it over to Clint who tucked it safely under his pillow.

"Natalya." Stane's voice from the doorway made all four of them tense, their attention turning towards him. "What did I tell you? I am sure Miss Potts doesn't want to be dealing with our problems, she's new here. Why don't you take her to see the rides?" His voice was cold and dangerous, and Clint felt sick just hearing it.

If Natasha did feel sick from it, she did a very good job of hiding it. Instead, she smiled brightly, and clasped Miss Potts' hand in between both of hers.  
"Come on Pepper! Let me show you..."

Pepper looked like she wanted to object, but she didn't fight when she was pulled away. Stane's glare lingered on those inside, before turning to watch Pepper's retreating back. Clint tensed, waiting for shouting or more blows, but they didn't come. He curled up in bed, shaking and alone. Bruce stroked his hair.  
"Try and get some sleep."

Clint wanted to object. He had been sleeping a lot recently, and the last thing he wanted to do was carry on wasting time. But Natasha was busy, and Bruce's hand on his forehead felt warm, comforting. He closed his eyes.  
"Wake me if Natasha comes back."

"I will." Bruce replied, and Clint allowed himself to drift off for a little longer.

He was woken by cold limbs slipping in beside him, Natasha's head resting on his shoulder. He pulled her close, even before he was fully awake, seeing in the light that filtered through the dirty window that she had been crying.  
"Natasha?" He asked softly. He didn't like her being upset. He didn't feel she should be. Natasha was strong, and a hero like Hawkeye. 

She sniffled, but swallowed several times, until she could talk.  
"You ... you miss fight..." She took another few breaths, trying to calm herself so that she could talk normally. In an effort to help her, Clint reached out and pressed the iron doll he had been given by Tony into her hands. She turned it over, looking at it, and managing a weak smile.

"What happened Natasha?" He asked, and she shook her head, then nodded once, quickly, trying to work out what to say. Clint, not used to seeing Natasha so uncertain, gave her as long as she needed to put her thoughts together.

"This..." She gestured at the tiny figure in her hands. "I think this is for Miss Potts, so she be hero too. She very..." Natasha's small body convulsed with a sob, but she made herself continue. "She very brave. She be called Rescue, she try to save people, try and help..."

Clint rubbed her back, sitting up and realising it was just the two of them, with a couple of empty bottles waiting on the table. Bruce wasn’t around. He began to realise how he could get her to talk about what happened.  
"What did Rescue do Natasha?"  
"Rescue... Rescue find that Hawkeye injured, and she want to save him. She know he hero, and she want...want to share that..." She took another few shaky breaths, her words coming more easily.

"She find Hawkeye hurt by a bad man, and find out about Black Widow, so she goes to him, tells him he is bad. Threatens to tell other people if he lets it happen again. But he strong, he hits her, she tries to hit back, and he pushes her... she screams, and Hulk... Hulk comes to help. Hulk doesn't want her to get hurt. He tries...he tries to fight. He..." She swallowed. "He loses, and gets hurt bad, and locked up in a cage..."

Clint rubbed her back, murmuring soft meaningless words in the hope that it would help her to calm down.  
"And Rescue?"  
"Rescue... is scared, and sad, and... not able to be a hero until better... I think... I think the bad men broke her arm. She cause trouble, and that…that not go well. She ...she got put in cage with Hulk. But that... that not bad. Hulk good. Hulk will look after her..." She wiped away her tears, and shot a damp smile at him, the mask she had perfected so young sliding back into place.

"Trickshot wants us to come and practice..." She nodded, walking around the room, picking up a few objects then offering him her hand. Clint took it, getting to his feet, stumbling a little as he emerged from the relative darkness and shelter of Bruce's trailer out into the daylight.

Natasha went a long route around to the practice tent, pausing and looking thoughtfully at one of the trailers used to store equipment, which was currently locked shut. Clint shivered when he heard soft crying from within. Natasha moved over to the trailer, pushing at the door, trying to get it open. 

"Hawkeye. Help." She demanded, and he came over to her. The chain that fastened it closed wasn't locked tight, and Clint was able to help her push it open an inch. He kept looking around, worried they were about to be caught, but she hadn't thought of it. Or maybe she had and she was just braver than him. She pressed her face up against the narrow gap.  
"Bruce? Miss Potts?" There was a pained noise, and Bruce appeared in the thin sliver of light. Natasha held out the bandages and medicines she had picked up, and put them inside, before stepping back.   
"I leave door. You need light."

Clint watched with admiration as she returned to him, head down as she walked to the practice tent. He knew he should have been focused on the trick he had to perform, but instead his thoughts were set on the trailer with his friend and Miss Potts inside. The trailer Natasha had brought help to.

Hawkeye would save them. Hawkeye would help them. He might not have been a hero, not really, might not have been brave and fearless and the best shot ever, but he could do that.

That knowledge gave him strength as he walked with Natasha to rehearse.


	8. The Team

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint tries to rehearse the new trick, makes a decision and realises something important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by the wonderful shadowhaloedangel.  
> Warnings: Peril and children in danger.

Natasha was walking with confidence as she approached the practice tent, looking for all the world as though she was about to go out on stage in front of an audience. Behind her, Clint dawdled, trying to understand how she could do it, how she could face this situation and not feel scared.

When he finally followed her into the tent, he found that not only was Trickshot there, so was Natasha's not-father. Natasha and he were talking quietly, and he guessed they were speaking Russian, it certainly wasn't a language he had heard much of before. 

Natasha seemed to be annoyed, or angry, but then the man she was with also got angry, and she fell quiet, nodding in obedience to whatever it was he was telling her.   
"We decide a little of the routine." The man informed Trickshot. Trickshot nodded, and Natasha took centre stage as her not-father walked away.

She began to move, across the sand floor, flipping and turning and moving, dancing as though she had a real audience, arching and tumbling. Clint watched in awe. He had never seen anything as beautiful as Natasha performing. There was a grace to it that was somehow not human. He just needed to work out what it was. Like a cat perhaps. He supposed it would serve Black Widow well.

He didn't get to lose himself in those thoughts for very long. Trickshot clapped once the routine was finished, then turned to Clint.  
"I want to see that you can shoot."

Clint nodded, picking up his bow and arrows, and letting five shots off, smiling a little as they thudded into the bullseye in a perfect star formation. He felt a warm glow at that, but it was short lived.  
"The new bow works then. But I didn't mean at the target...Natalya, go and stand in front of the target. Clint, I want you to shoot near her..." He considered, then reached into a pocket, pulling out a dirty rag and handing it to Natasha. "Hold it like this, by your side...yes, good girl..." He ruffled her hair, and Natasha glared for a moment, before her face settled into the bored expression Clint had seen often before. He didn't like it when her expression got like that.

"I want you to shoot the handkerchief from her hand Clint." Trickshot ordered him. Clint nodded. This should have been an easy shot. It was a lot bigger a target than the ones he usually fired at, and Natasha was going to be holding it still. But it wasn't that easy. He couldn't see how to do it to start with. He didn't want to risk hitting her.

He could tell that he was breathing too fast, and he was nearly sick there and then, clinging to the bow with both hands to try and hold himself together. Natasha looked calm.  
"I'm waiting Clint." Trickshot told him, and his voice was cold. Clint notched up an arrow, repeating to himself in his head that he could do this, that he could make sure he hit the handkerchief. He did more difficult shots every day.

He wanted to look away, but Natasha needed him to watch. He lined up, remembering not to compensate for the sight, pulled back and let the arrow loose. It tore through the fabric and buried in the target behind.

Clint was very aware of what the arrow could do if it had hit Natasha rather than the rag. He had been hunting with Barney and a few of the riggers, when Barney was still around. Clint had been the best shot of all of them, and they'd told him what to kill. He hadn't wanted to, but he'd still done it, because he didn't want to let them down. He'd never forget that. 

In his mind, the deer he had slaughtered became Natasha, and the tent began to spin, the ground moving under him. Natasha ran to him, rubbing his back and whispering.  
"It is alright Hawkeye. You will not miss. Is okay..."  
Trickshot sneered at him  
"Up. We have a trick to complete."

Clint staggered to his feet, and carried on shooting. For a few more shots, she was stationary, and they just wanted to prove he could shoot towards her. Then she was told to move, slowly, and he had to shoot more carefully than before. The room still felt like it was spinning, but he refused to permit that to put him off his shots. Natasha needed him to do this perfectly, and that was what he would do.

Clint had never been good at responsibility, but he could feel its weight on his shoulders now and he refused to bow to it. He watched Natasha carefully, learning to pre-empt where she would be. The time he had spent watching her rehearse had been well spent, as he could at least predict what was going to happen a little. 

She began to run through the routine at full speed, and Clint fired off the arrows, close enough that her hair fluttered as they passed. Trickshot nodded his approval once.  
"Again. Natalya, we need to find a way that they will see it. It will be more effective..."

The next run through, Natasha had blocks of wood fastened to her forearms and shins, and one on the top of her head. Clint would have laughed at how silly she looked in any other circumstance, but right now he was too focused to be amused. He had to do this right. He had to hit the wood near the centre of the blocks, that would help space out the impact, and hopefully stop them from shattering into a mass of splinters that would cause serious injuries. He made himself keep breathing.

She started, and he lifted his bow, watching carefully for his chances to fire. All five shots hit the wood. He saw her flinch from the force of the impact, but she was uninjured. He knew she'd have bruises, but that was the best he could hope for. His dizziness increased, and he had to support himself on his bow to stop from falling. With his old bow, he probably couldn't have made those shots. He thought of when the bow had failed, and shuddered. That would have killed her.

"We'll rehearse more tomorrow. Clint, carry on practicing. Natalya, I think your father wanted to see you." Trickshot left the tent, and Natasha quickly removed the blocks of wood, helping Clint retrieve the arrows from them. 

"I will be back soon, I promise." She embraced him quickly, then ran off. Clint was left alone, staring at the arrows and the damaged wood that so easily could have been his friend's body. He couldn't let that happen.

He continued to shoot at a target as he thought. It calmed him, and meant he would be in less trouble if Trickshot came back. He had too many thoughts, and he needed to work through them. He had to look after Natasha, and the other people he knew, Bruce in the trailer and Steve who tried to protect him. Tony, who had made him the bow that had saved Natasha's life.

In a way, he supposed they were all his friends. That was a scary thought to have, after so long not having any friends at all. He wasn't sure how to react to it. Another shot sunk into the yellow, and he tried to escape to the world he'd always used before, even before he met Natasha. 

Where he could be a hero. Where the targets he were shooting were monsters that needed to be destroyed, where he was saving lives. Where he was the amazing Hawkeye, where people looked up to him.

Another shot, and he put his bow down, walking around the tent. 

He knew what Hawkeye would do in this situation. Of course he did. Hawkeye was a hero, so he'd go and be heroic, that was how this sort of thing worked. A hero would save his friends, would defeat the bad guys, would stop the trick. He'd refuse to shoot at his friend, rather than just trying to shoot carefully.

Clint supposed he'd already failed the hero test. He'd not done well enough. He shuddered, wishing Natasha was there, wishing somebody was there. He wished he could just curl up behind some of the equipment bags again, and try and forget the outside world.

But he couldn't. Because he had to try. That knowledge stuck in his throat, hurting his head. He didn't want to have to do this. But he had to. 

Accepting it in a way made it easier. It wasn't a matter of choice, of what he wanted. It was just what he had to do. He'd help them. He just wasn't sure how. 

He could start by taking water to Bruce and the lady he was with. That would help them, and maybe it would give him some idea of what he should do. Mind made up, he scurried to find a water bottle, going back to the trailer and knocking on the heavy wooden door.

Bruce's face appeared in the thin gap that had been left earlier, and Clint held out the water bottle. Bruce took it, nodding his thanks and disappearing back into the darkness. Clint shivered, but pushed against the wooden doors, trying to force them open. He shoved at them with all his small strength, and they stayed exactly where they were.

Clint flinched when his third effort still yielded no result. He had to find a solution to this somehow. He thought over the other people in the circus. Tony would be able to cut the chain, he was fairly sure about that. But Tony wasn't the easiest person to ask. 

A moment later, he thought of Thor, the friendly strongman who was always so good to him. If anyone would do this out of kindness, without asking for anything in return, it would be Thor. He'd ask him.

He began to head towards Thor's tent, freezing when he became aware of someone close to him. He spun, and found Natasha stood beside him. She looked almost sad, or frightened, and that was a lot worse even than her being bored. Her face was puffy and damp. She had been crying.  
"It's okay Natasha." Clint promised, his hand reaching out for hers, to hold it and provide the comfort she needed. "We can run away from here, and have a good life. We can be free of Stane, and ...and Trickshot, and this. We can be happy."

She glared at him, raising one small hand to wipe away her tears.   
"You are a stupid boy. Where we get food? Where we get money? What do we have other than circus?"  
"We can be heroes." Clint answered, reaching for her hand, but she moved it away. He sighed slightly. "I'll find something Natasha. I wouldn't let you go to bed hungry, I promise."

Natasha nodded, and sat down on the ground. Clint knew he needed to go and talk to Thor, but he thought that could wait. He sat down beside her, and reached for her hand. She took it, her own trembling a little.  
"Miss Potts not Stane's only new helper. There a man. He... he seems dangerous. And Ivan..." Seeing his blank look, she rolled her eyes. "The one you think is my father but is not my father. He is scared of new man. Ivan get angry easily because he scared, and that... that is not good..."

"We can run away." Clint repeated, trying to cling to his dreams, not wanting her fear to destroy them. "We can be heroes. And heroes can't be scared of anything, not even bad men."  
Natasha shrugged her shoulders.  
"I'm no hero."

"Yes you are Natasha." Clint promised, squeezing her hand softly and hoping that he was helping her at the moment. "You are a hero, I know you are. We can escape. We’ll take Miss Potts and Bruce and escape."

Natasha nodded, gazing deep into his eyes, and then getting up.   
"You ask Thor to help with door? How?" She smiled, seemingly amused. "You give him food? That make him help I sure."  
"I'll ask him to help. He's a friend."  
"I..." Natasha looked uncertain, and there was still sadness lingering in her eyes. But she nodded and got to her feet. "I come with you to ask."

She headed with him to Thor's tent, and he led the way inside. The blond was delighted to see them, grinning and holding up food for them both. Natasha was there instantly, grabbing the bowl he held out to her and eating with her fingers, picking out morsels of the fish and swallowing them. Clint lingered in the doorway, trying to decide what to say.

"Bruce and a lady need your help Thor, they've been locked in a trailer and you can get them out, please..."  
"Of course my young one. I shall help." Thor nodded, and Clint was struck by the regal way he spoke and moved. He would be a good prince, a good god. He was enough of a hero for it.

Natasha looked at him and nodded. "We can do with more help maybe. I go and ask Tony for help." She considered a little, then smirked. "Well, I ask Steve to ask Tony. More like he say yes that way. Steve can get Tony to listen." With that, she disappeared off from the tent, leaving only an empty bowl as a sign she had ever been there. Undeterred, Thor offered more food to Clint, who ate hungrily.

Thor laughed, chuckling to himself as he picked Clint up, carrying him back over to the trailer. Natasha was leaning back against it, looking around, and Clint ran to hug her. A moment later, Steve and Tony approached.  
"It's never gonna work Steve." Tony slurred, leaning on the smaller man for support. "'s just gonna blow up in our faces and get us in worse shit."  
"Tony." Steve glared at him. "Watch your language. Natalya's present..."

Natasha couldn't hold back a giggle at that, but Steve continued unperturbed.   
"Look. Maybe it won't work. But we... we have to try. We have to do something. You know what happened to Fury. You know this isn't going to get better. We have to do something Tony. Please."  
"'s a fucking stupid idea."  
"We're still doing it." Steve insisted. Tony groaned, resting against Steve's shoulder, but he stopped arguing.   
"Thanks." Clint mouthed to Steve, before turning to Thor. "Bruce and Miss Potts are trapped in there."

Miss Pott's face appeared in the gap by the door. She was pale and clearly in a lot of pain but she held herself together.  
"Be careful, please...I don’t want any of you to get hurt."

"Do not worry my lady. I shall free both of you. Please move back, I do not want you to be injured." Thor instructed, waving her backwards. There was rustling from inside the trailer as they moved out of the way, and Thor tested the door. The chain itself was too thick to break, but it wasn't the chain he was looking at. He rested a hand against the frame of the doorway, and the other wrapped around the chain. He tugged at it hard, muscles bulging as he strained against the wood.

The frame creaked, and he nodded, pulling again. The wood gave way with a loud crack, splinters flying through the air and a large chunk falling as the chain came free in his hand. He pushed the door open.

Bruce was inside, his back to the door, sheltering Pepper. He turned to look at them and his eyes caught Clint's. He smiled, helping Pepper up to her feet, supporting her. Her arm was in a sling made from Bruce's shirt, and she was badly bruised, but she was able to walk. She got to the edge of the trailer, and Steve reached out, helping her jump down before aiding Bruce.

"What.... what now?" She asked softly. Clint hesitated. His plan had gone as far as rescuing the two of them, but no further. Natasha looked up at her and Bruce.   
"You run. There is woods near by. If you climb high, no one look up, is safer there. You hide, and when we go you be safe. Or..." She looked at Bruce as well. "You take Bruce with you. He help you run, get you to proper treatment."

"Come with us Natalya..." Pepper suggested gently, smiling at the little girl and holding out her hand. Natasha bit her lip, looking at Clint.   
"Only if Clint come to."

Clint nodded quickly, looking at the rest.   
"We can all go. We don't need..." Clint realised that Tony wasn't looking at him any more. 

He spun, and watched, horrified, as Stane walked closer to them. He grabbed his bow, notching an arrow and aiming it at him, hands shaking. Stane sneered, a gun glinting in his hand, pointing directly at Clint's head. The group stood helpless as Stane walked closer, one hand still holding the gun at Clint, while his other grabbed Natasha by the throat, holding her in front of him, a shield to the arrows.  
"Now, what have we here?" He asked, laughing softly. "Miss Potts, I don't think you are meant to be out right now..." He looked at the entire group, his hand tightening its grip on Tasha's throat, earning a soft whimper of pain. 

"Did you all think you could run away? Really? You need me. Anyway, I own you..." Now his gaze was focused on Clint. "Your brother sold you to me. You're my property, you and Natalya both and I am not letting you go.”


	9. Agent Coulson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stand off is interrupted, and Clint realises that things are going to change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings; Peril, threat, implied torture of bad guys.
> 
> Thanks to ShadowHaloedAngel for betaing this. It would have been the last chapter, but I decided it needed an epilogue.

Clint was frozen in fear, staring hypnotised into the barrel of a gun, seeing Natasha fighting to keep her feet on the ground as Stane pushed her head back, his own hands never wavering. Clint couldn't think. He'd been sold. All his dreams of escaping, all his hopes, all his fears, they were just that. Dreams. He'd been stupid enough to act on them, and now his friend was going to pay. The hand on her throat tightened again, and Natasha whimpered.

Clint watched, his thoughts sluggish, his body not obeying him. Even breathing felt like too much effort. Any ideas of Hawkeye, any sense that he might be, might one day be, a hero was gone with the revelation that he wasn't ever going to be free of this. 

Clint knew he was nothing. The gun was pointed at him, and Natasha was gasping for air, balanced en pointe as she tried to stay in contact with the ground, to keep the strain on her neck from killing her. Clint drew back the string and fired, aiming at the part of Stane's leg that he could see, behind Natasha's small frame. All he cared about was not hitting Natasha, giving her a chance to breathe. If he got shot for this, it was worth it.

The arrow flew, sinking into Stane's thigh, and the gun fired off one shot. The bullet span out to the side, driving into the wood of the empty trailer as the gun slipped from his fingers. Stane doubled over in agony. Natasha twisted from his grasp and dropped down into the mud, gasping for air. Clint was shaking so hard he could barely move. He was going to be sick. He would be in so much trouble. He wasn't going to survive, he was sure of it. Around him, the world was spinning, and he couldn't do anything.

Natasha wasn't frozen though. She scrabbled on the floor, grabbing the gun and turning to the adults that were still there.  
"Run. Get away from here."   
Steve looked like he was about to argue but Tony's hand on his led him away. Bruce turned to Pepper, who was paler than before, and he supported her away, helping her to get the treatment she desperately needed. Thor alone seemed like he was going to stay. Natasha's gaze locked on his, her entire body trembling. "Please..." She begged, hands shaking around the gun. "Please, I do not want to have you hurt..."

Stane was still in obvious pain, but he was focused on Natasha and Clint now, and he was smirking. Thor still hadn't moved, and Natasha flinched, firing off a shot near the strongman’s feet.   
"Go."

Thor left reluctantly, moving some distance away, but still watching. Clint wished that was comforting, but he was too lost in what was happening to be aware of Thor’s presence. He was still holding his bow out in front of him but he had not notched another arrow. His arms felt too tired, too stiff for that. Stane limped towards Natasha, his eyes glittering with sheer hatred.  
"Natalya..." The words dripped venom. "Natalya, don't be difficult. Give that to me, there's a good girl..." He reached out, his hand closing around the barrel of the gun, and he pulled it from her grasp, sending her falling back onto the ground. She tried to get in front of Clint, trembling still, and Stane sneered.

"I let you get away with too much. Ivan and Trickshot warned me about you, but I didn't listen. Still, it's not a mistake I'll make again. You won't see each other anymore..." He was moving closer to them, the gun held out, until it was resting against Natasha's forehead, the end of the barrel pressing into her skin. "It would be so easy to kill you right now Natalya... but no...I think that would spoil the fun..." 

This close, Clint could see that Stane was pale, and the hands which had been so firm a few minutes before were trembling. His eyes were glinting with insanity, and his mouth was flecked with spittle. Blood was running down his leg from the wound, and Clint knew he was going to pay for that injury for a long time, if he survived. The ground was still moving beneath him, and the barrel of the gun seemed to grow until it was threatening to devour him. He couldn't tear his gaze away.

"Obadiah." The voice that cut through the air was calm, and controlled, and almost casual. There was no hatred there, no insanity, just an authority that broke the tension. Stane looked up, his eyes widening, and Clint hesitantly turned, looking away from the older man. Because hypnotizing though Stane was in his rage, almost possessed, this was something more.

The figure he was faced with was nearly unremarkable. A middle aged man, fairly smartly dressed, with a face that was not in the least bit memorable. Clint was sure he would have forgotten him in an instant, if not for the fact that he was holding a gun, and pointing it not at the children but at Stane.   
"Obadiah. Put that down. I won't ask twice." It was clear he was being honest.

The gun dropped from Stane's hands, and Natasha bent down, grabbing it and holding it directed at the ground. The figure approached, gun never wavering. "We're going to go to your trailer Obadiah, and you're going to stay there..." With that, he marched the man away, Stane limping from the arrow wound, gun pressed against the back of his head.   
"You two stay there. I'll be back shortly." The newcomer commanded, and Clint collapsed to the floor in relief.

It was only when Tony sat down beside him, patting his shoulder, that Clint realised he wasn't alone.  
"You did good kid." He whispered. Clint could almost believe that when Tony said it. His shoulder was squeezed once more, and Tony got up. "It was Steve who got him." He spoke softly, and with that he walked away, before Clint could even process what had been said.

Natasha moved to sit beside him, her head resting on his shoulder, and Clint wrapped an arm around her waist, listening to the steady pattern of her breathing.   
"Who was that?" Clint whispered, holding her close.  
"That...that was the man I say about. The other one, the one Ivan does not like. Him....he come and..." She shrugged slightly. "He come and take over."  
"He came to save us Natasha." Clint insisted, smiling, but she shrugged a little.  
"We don't know that..." She whispered. "Maybe he come to be in charge. Maybe he will be worse. We do not know..." She was shivering in the cold air, and Clint held her tightly.

"We know he came to save us." Clint repeated. He couldn't lose hope the way she had. He smiled, even if she was making him doubt it. "He's a hero."  
"What's his power?" She asked, and there was almost an anger there. Clint hesitated. He had to say the right thing, or he'd only upset her more.

"I think that is his power. That he can help people, that he can help them be heroes, that he can stop bad things. Try... try and believe..." He insisted, and she sighed, just cuddling up against his side. 

They sat still together until the newcomer returned, crouching down in front of them and offering them each a hand.   
"Come with me..." He lead them to one of the trailers on the outside of the camp. "I think we need to talk." Natasha hesitated, but then nodded and lead the way. Clint decided that if she could put her fears aside and trust him, he would too. It was not like he had much choice. 

The man opened the door, letting them go in first, and took a seat on the table. Clint walked in and headed over to the bed, sitting down, and Natasha sat beside him, her hand in his own.

The newcomer was watching them both carefully, his face impassive. Natasha had her head down, quiet, and it fell on Clint to break the silence.   
"Hello...th...thank you...for..." He shrugged a little. "Thank you for saving us..." He put the bow that was still in his hands down on the bed beside him, and held a hand out to this new man.  
"I'm Clint, and this is Natasha..." 

Clint was surprised when the man reached out and shook his hand. He hadn't expected that, hadn't expected to be acknowledged. The fact he had been made him smile.  
"I'm Philip Coulson. It's good to meet you both... Hello Clint, hello Nata-"  
“Natalya.” Natasha insisted. “Only my friend calls me Natasha.”  
“As you wish Natalya.” Coulson smiled, as he reached into his pocket, pulling out some candy and handing it to both of them. Natasha looked at hers in concern, before shrugging a little and popping the sweet in her mouth.

"It's alright..." Coulson spoke evenly, and if there was something else in his voice, Clint couldn't work out what it was. "I've been talking to the people here, I know what's been happening... and it's going to stop now." He was speaking mainly to Natasha then, smiling at both of the children. 

"We need to stay in circus." Natasha insisted. "We... have no... I am better off here than I would be elsewhere. Clint would starve, he is too silly, too hopeful. I would not want him to get...to get hurt..." Her hand was resting on Clint's once more, and Clint didn't know what he could do to reassure her. 

"I'm not asking you to leave." Coulson answered, smiling. "I... I know that you belong here Natalya, I know you both like performing. But we're going to do it properly. We're going to make sure you both get an education, and you won't have to rehearse all the time."

Natasha snorted slightly.  
"Ivan will not let me learn."  
Clint shrugged a little, wanting to believe the stranger, but knowing it wouldn't work.  
"Trickshot won't let me either. He only wants me to practice."  
"And Stane will get rid of you soon." Natasha told Coulson, her eyes cold.

Coulson smiled softly at the two of them, shaking his head a little. There was sadness in his eyes, but when he spoke what he was saying was positive, was a chance at hope, so Clint didn't know why he looked upset.  
"I'm going to tell Trickshot and Ivan that they need to leave. I know what they have been involved in, and my circus will run much better without them."  
"But Stane-" Clint began to protest despite himself, even as he realised he should be quiet, should just do what he was told.

"Stane will be going as well. He is not going to continue to run this, he has signed it over to me."

Clint couldn't understand that. Stane would never abandon the circus, he was convinced of it. But Coulson was smiling. He lifted his hand, brushing a dark fleck off his sleeve. Natasha smirked a little at him, and he nodded slightly.

"I... I try to be good." Natasha told him. "I try, I perform well... Maybe, if I do good... you will not hurt us?"  
"I'm not going to hurt you. Either of you. You don't need to be afraid anymore."

Clint smiled, knowing they were in the presence of a real hero.


	10. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A week has passed, and Clint has to talk to Coulson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it is finished! Thank you so much for reading this, I hope that you enjoyed it, and I truly appreciate all of the kudos and comments.
> 
> Thanks to Shadowhaloedangel again for betaing throughout.

The next week passed in a blur to Clint, but one that he would try and remember every second of. Stane was gone, and so were Ivan and Trickshot. Some of the other adults that had hurt him were still around, but he had Natasha as company, and for the first time in a long while, he felt hope.

Rehearsals were still frequent, and Clint pushed himself harder than ever before, wanting to prove he could be good, could do well. But Coulson insisted he didn't shoot at Natasha, which was a relief. When he'd asked about it, the older man had said he didn't doubt for a moment that Clint could make the shot, only didn't think he should have to. That was an argument Clint liked.

Other than rehearsals though, Coulson made both Natasha and Clint come to see him for lessons, and Clint found that he loved listening to Coulson reading books out. He looked forwards to when he was able to read them himself. For the first time that Clint could remember, he felt like a child. The best thing of all that Coulson had read to him had been a scrap of paper he'd given to him, giving ownership of Clint back to the boy in question. Clint folded that fragment up in his bow case, and never let it go out of reach.

He wasn't trapped any more. Wasn't a prisoner. He was learning, and belonged to himself. He was on the way to being a hero, and he wasn't the only one.

Bruce had helped Pepper get medical treatment, but she had chosen to stay with the circus, to help Coulson reform it so that it was a good place. She was organised, and had spent the week working out contracts for everyone. She had become good friends with Natasha, and Clint realised he didn't mind his friend having another friend. Not when it made her happy. Anyway, Natasha always ended up coming to talk to him, sitting with him and making up more stories.

Over the last week, far from disappearing, their stories had grown. Steve as Captain America had begun to lead in their stories, because he'd taken control and helped save them. Pepper kept an eye on Tony and was able to control Hulk, while Thor began to play a more major role. 

Most central of all in their daydreams though were Black Widow and Hawkeye. They were going to do amazing things, save children who needed it, kill bad guys. And they wouldn't be doing it alone.

They would have Agent Coulson to guide them. He would help them to do the right thing.   
Clint liked making up stories about Agent Coulson, almost as much as he liked the parts with Hawkeye and Black Widow. But the difference was, in his eyes, that Coulson was already a hero.

Clint felt a little nervous about performing in front of Coulson, but the new ringmaster was far more patient than Stane had ever been. When Clint had shot, Coulson praised him, turning to the assembled crowd and directing one hand towards Clint.  
"Wasn't he remarkable ladies and gentlemen? The Amazing Hawkeye." When Coulson spoke those words, they didn't feel mocking. It didn't feel like he was just saying it, like he was making it up. It felt like he meant it, and Clint couldn't stop smiling.

"Now, Ladies and gentlemen, it is my pleasure to present to you the incredibly talanted Natalya.." A drum roll sounded, and Natasha stepped out on stage to widespread applause. Clint decided he could watch her act before he thought about rest. She was always worth watching.

After she was finished, she sought him out, sitting beside him, her head resting once more on his shoulder.  
"I think you were right." She told him. Sensing his confusion, she continued. "I think that Coulson might be one of the good guys."

Clint grinned at her, but it seemed she wasn't finished yet.  
"I've been thinking about letting him... and a few of the others...call me Natasha. Not everyone, certainly not while I perform. But it isn't a bad name, not really, and I like it.”

Clint nodded, giving her time to think through anything she needed to, but it seemed she was finished for now. Comfortable silence fell between them for a few minutes, before Clint spoke, hesitant, picking out his words.

"I think that maybe, is up to you but maybe, Agent Coulson is what helps Hawkeye and Black Widow to be heroes... I think he is able to guide them."

Natasha nodded.  
"Yes, we agree that already..."  
"I think..." Clint squeezed her hand. "I think Coulson needs to know..."

Natasha fell silent for a minute, to the point where Clint nearly apologised for suggesting it. But eventually, in one sharp movement, she nodded. 

The two of them sat in silence until Coulson approached, reaching out to ruffle Clint's hair.  
"Come on you two, you have classes."  
Clint nodded, grinning up at him.   
"Yeh... Coulson...I've got a story to tell you."


End file.
